Dosvedanya
by childofthemuses
Summary: Lance is a Prince, hell bent on hiding from his royal duties and getting into trouble with his best friend. That is, until a vengeful figure from his family's past returns and threatens their destruction. Are they to be believed? And if so, is there anything Lance can do to help his family, and himself? Very loosely based on Anastasia (1997).
1. 1: Spare Part

"This is a bad idea."

"Shh," Lance hissed through his teeth, "Keep it down. Do you want to wake the whole castle?"

"I don't know, would that put a stop to your idiotic plan?" Hunk grumbled from behind.

Lance pouted into the darkness, creeping as best he could down the unlit corridor. They were in the guest wing, meaning that the place should be deserted. Still, you couldn't be too careful.

"You didn't have to come," Lance pointed out to the other boy, keeping his voice low.

"Your father hired me as the voice of reason, since you were clearly born without the little voice in your head telling you that _this is a bad idea!_ "

"My father hired you," Lance contradicted, "to spend time with me and keep me out of his way."

Hunk grumbled more, muttering under his breath. Lance thought he heard something about deserving a raise, and smiled impishly.

"You would be bored without me."

"I would be safe and in bed without you."

"Exactly, and where's the fun in that?"

Hunk sighed, a sound Lance was well accustomed to after years of secret plans and adventures in the dark. "Just five minutes?"

"I promise: out and in. Just a peek, then back to bed."

"And no climbing out where we could fall and die? A peek from the window?"

"You have my word."

"Your word means nothing. Remember when you gave me your word that you wouldn't approach that Klan-mural and her cub? Remember? Remember what happened?"

Lance waved at him absentmindedly over his shoulder.

"Remember Lance? Remember that?"

"Hunk-"

"Remember!"

"Okay okay," Lance turned towards his friend, waving his hands in a bid to calm him. "I remember, I remember!"

"We almost died!"

"I know-"

"She chased us-"

"I said I-"

"For _miles_ -"

"Hunk keep your voice down-"

"We had to climb a _tree_ to escape-"

"Hunk!"

"Which was a terrible idea too!" Hunk's pitch was steadily rising as he was caught in the memory of running for his life.

"Hu-"

"Klan-murals can climb, Lance!"

"Well I know that now-"

"If your sister hadn't come along-"

"Hunk calm down!" Lance stepped forwards and put hands on his friend's shoulders, trying to look into his eyes in the midnight gloom. "This isn't like those other ideas," He grinned confidently. "This is going to be unbelievable."

" _You're_ unbelievable," Hunk muttered.

"Hunk Garret, you have the word of a prince: this is a good idea and you will not regret it."

Lance could practically hear the other boy roll his eyes. "Just play the prince card, why don't you."

Lance shrugged, still grinning. "If you're holding a trump card, why not use it? Come on, it'll be starting soon."

They resumed their sneaking, careful making their way around corners in case they ran into any sentries. If they were caught out of bed so late, unescorted and lacking permission, Lance would be in for quite the conversation with his mother tomorrow.

Not to mention having to bear the weight of Allura's disapproving gaze.

The guest wing had lain empty and neglected for years – that was the main reason Lance managed to convince Hunk to come this far. It was unlikely they would run into anyone: they should be able to reach their destination in peace. Lance continued on on tiptoe, taking long strides to limit the amount of noise he was making.

"What are you doing?" Hunk asked him.

"What?" Lance glanced back, perplexed. He looked down at himself, crouched low to the ground as he peered around a corner, remaining on his tiptoes even while stationary.

"You look ridiculous."

"I'm trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. A tactic you should consider."

"You look like a wannabee ninja."

Lance's teeth gnashed together. "Do you want to get caught?"

"I almost want other people to be able to see you and your duck walk."

"Hey! It is not-!"

"Would you two shut up?" A voice rang out in the relative silence. The door beside them swung open and green light spilled into the hallway. The two boys jumped back, shrieking, Lance instantly ducking to hide behind Hunk. A short figure emerged from the room, hand on their hips and lips upturned in a smirk. "Some of us are trying to get work done."

A shock of short white hair, glowing green marks below similar green eyes, the creepy light catching in a flash in her glasses. His little sister glared up at him.

"P-Pidge?" Lance exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

She cocked an eyebrow, "I could ask you two the same thing."

"C-can't we be out for a midnight stroll?" Lance stammered, holding his hands up in surrender to the small, intimidating form.

"No, you can't," She smirked. "You two are up to something – I would recognise Lance's 'ninja walk' anywhere," She said, using air quotes to disparage Lance's stealth ability.

"Hey-"

"And what are you doing," Hunk said, crossing his arms and raising a brow, "Little princess?"

Her smirk instantly soured into a scowl. "What's it to you?"

"These rooms are reserved for guests, Princess Katherine. Why, if I informed Coran of an insolent royal camping out in one of his pristine suites, I bet his moustache would just _bristle_." Hunk grinned, voice heavy with the threat.

Pidge seemed taken aback at the mention of Coran. Lance shivered slightly, remembering the look on the head of staff's face when he had been a tad too vicarious and Allura had somehow managed to push him through three banisters on the spiral staircase in the main hallway. He still remembered the feel of the ornately carved wood of the pillars splintering beneath his back. He still remembered Coran's face turning almost as red as his hair, moustache blending with the puce of his cheeks.

He and Allura had hid outside in the gardens that day, camped out beneath a bush in an attempt to escape his wrath.

"You wouldn't." She said, narrowing her eyes.

"Maybe you didn't see us," Hunk said, "And we didn't see you?"

She eyed them suspiciously through the thick lenses of her glasses. "What are you two up to?"

"Want to come and see?" Lance stuck his head out from behind Hunk, ensnaring his younger sister in his gaze. He knew the powers his charm held, he knew how just the right look could convince someone to do anything he desired. It's how he always managed to convince Hunk to make mistakes with him, despite the boy's better judgement.

She glanced back over her shoulder, calculating as she took in whatever was in the room. She shrugged, stepping forward and closing the door. "I've got time."

Lance shook his head, chuckling softly. "So mysterious."

"So where are we going?" Pidge pressed, falling in step as the trio started off down the hallway.

"You'll see when we get there."

"It's a bad idea," Hunk informed her.

"Hey! I thought we had moved past this negative mindset Hunk!"

"I made no such promises."

They were almost there anyway: Lance was almost jumping with excitement. He always missed it, always. It doesn't do for royals to be up half the night, his mother warned. Think of the bags under your eyes! Besides, its really not that interesting.

Lance pressed below his eyes gently, checking for the tell-tale bags hanging from his lower lids. He would wear a cold compress when he made it back to bed, that would fix it. Skincare was important, but somethings are worth the risk of losing out on beauty sleep. And Lance had waited far too long for this opportunity.

The hallway came to an abrupt end and Hunk and Pidge came to a standstill, puzzled.

"Where's the window?" Hunk asked.

"Window?" Pidge echoed, confusion weighting down her voice.

Lance grinned. "This is the good bit."

Hunk stepped back, hands up. "I don't trust that look on your face."

"Give me a boost," Lance ordered, waving his friend back towards him.

"What?"

"Up on your shoulders. Come on, we're going to miss it!"

Hunk shuffled forward unhappily, bending to allow Lance to clamber on.

"Ow!" He gasped as Lance tugged on his hair to avoid falling to the floor, pushing to stand straight.

"Sorry," Lance apologised, his head swinging up close to the ceiling.

"Can I run you into a chandelier?" Hunk inquired.

Lance decided to ignore that comment, reaching up to paw at the ceiling, his fingers searching for what he had seen in the daylight. He stretched his fingertips as far as they would go, searching for the ridge. "A little to the left, big guy?"

Hunk grunted and did as he was asked.

"What are you looking for?" Pidge was growing impatient below them. "You guys better not be wasting my time."

"You're sixteen, it's not like you've got that much going on," Lance chuckled.

Hunk was drifting slowing below him, allowing Lance the chance to scan a wider area with his fingers. Where was it?

"You don't know that," Pidge huffed.

"Do tell," Lance prodded, trying to get her to open up about her eerie, glowing, secret room.

"Well-" Pidge began, her voice pre-emptively adopting a patronising tone. "There's-"

Lance's fingers caught on a ridge, and he positively squealed in excitement, abruptly cutting Pidge off. Hunk stumbled briefly as he attempted to keep Lance from losing his balance and toppling to the floor. "This is it, this is it!"

"This is what?" Hunk said, exasperation starting to seep through his controlled tone.

Lance didn't answer. He reached past the ridge to the smooth panel, painted the same as the rest of the ceiling. It was lucky he had spotted it, the light catching on the ridge drawing Lance's eye. He had dreamed about this panel for weeks, waiting for the next solar storm to hit, trying his best to be patient. Once Hunk was settled below him, Lance carefully placed his hands and _pushed._ The panel lifted into the space above the ceiling easily enough, the movement causing a cascade of dust to rain down on the three of them. Pidge promptly began sneezing, grumbling about allergies.

Lance slid the panel to the side, revealing the hole in the ceiling. He pawed around above him in the dark, feeling for the ladder he had been told about when he had inquired about the hole to one of the groundsmen. More dust and fluff and god knows what else tumbled to the ground, and Pidge swore at him.

"You're getting it in my hair," Hunk complained.

"Almost…there…" Lance said, mostly to himself. He strained, stretching further forwards until…there! He grabbed at the object, dragging it towards him with a loud, scrapping sound.

"Be more conspicuous," Pidge said sarcastically, "I _dare_ you."

Lance grunted, heaving one last time before the thing came clattering through the hole all of a sudden, falling to the ground in an almighty racket. It was a miracle none of them were hit by the ladder with a death wish.

The following moments were deafeningly silent, all three of them holding their breaths, praying no one had heard them.

"Nice going," Pidge said snidely.

"You're not helping," Lance hissed, sliding off of Hunk's shoulders and down to the ground. He grabbed at the ladders, extending them back up to the ceiling. The hole where the panel had been was dauntingly black, devoid of any light. Almost a solid wall of blackness, and Lance felt a lump build in his throat staring up at it.

"Anyone bring a light?" He asked hopefully.

"I thought this was _your_ brilliant plan?" Pidge said.

"Shut it, Pidge."

She laughed quietly behind him. "Ladies first," She offered, gesturing towards the steps.

Lance was still staring into the blackness hovering above him, feeling it bore down on him. This was _his_ plan, _his_ idea. He had to go up there; he had to set an example.

He took a deep breath. This was going to be worth it. He just had to remember that.

He forced himself to place a foot on the bottom rung. The dark had always made him uneasy. He wouldn't necessarily say he was scared of the dark…mainly because that would be a ridiculous thing for an eighteen year old prince of a millennia old kingdom to say.

"We can still go back to bed," Hunk offered hopefully.

Lance shook his head, starting up the steps with more vigour. "No way. We've come this far, I'm not turning back now."

The moment Lance's head breached the darkness he lost his breath for a moment: it was _suffocating_. He felt his eyes go wide, trying to catch any semblance of light from anywhere in the attic. But all his eyes latched on to was the pale blue tinting the edge of his vision from his cheekbones.

"Can you see anything?" Hunk called up to him.

"What do you think?"

He took a deep breath: this was ridiculous. He was wasting time, and he would be damned if he missed the storm. He forced himself to climb further into the attic, enveloping his body in that darkness until he stepped from the ladder to the ground. He felt blindly around, looking for the hatch that the next step of his plan counted on.

"What are you doing?"

"Are you guys coming up or what?" He called over his shoulder.

"Why do you go along with all this?" Lance heard Pidge ask from below.

"Honestly?" Hunk said. "I have absolutely no idea."

Lance smirked: Hunk could complain all he wanted, but Lance knew for a fact the big guy enjoyed their adventures together. At least, he enjoyed reminiscing after the danger Lance inevitably dropped them in was long gone.

He heard footsteps on the ladder, ascending with more courage than he had. Hunk's voice was close this time, clearly sharing the attic space with him now.

"Wow, this is great. Okay, are we done?"

"Hunk, get your butt out of my face!" Pidge complained from further down the ladder, "I can't see anything."

"Erm, you're not really missing out on much."

As soon as Hunk said that unfaithful phrase, Lance's fingers brushed what he had been searching for. He turned the latch his hand locked around, and pushed with all his might. The hatch was stiff, rusted from disuse, the hinges squealing as Lance forced them forwards.

Hunk and Pidge remained quiet as they pulled themselves the rest of the way into the attic, happy to watch Lance wrestle with the hatch by himself. He was breathing hard, his arms straining to open it wide enough for all of them. Light was beginning to stream in: the moon was close to being full, and it was a clear night. Lucky: they should get an uninterrupted view.

He eventually gave up, convincing himself that the space was wide enough for them. He turned back to his best friend and his little sister, grinning like a mad man.

"Shall we?"

"Wait-" Hunk began, seeing the glint in Lance's eyes.

Lance turned and slipped his shoes off, jutting a bare foot out the window and down onto the slate of the roof tiles, searching for purchase.

"You said we were just going to peek out the window for a few minutes!" Hunk gasped, shocked at being lied to despite having experienced this exact plot twist numerous times in their past adventures.

Lance shrugged. "You said it yourself, my word means nothing." With that Lance hooked his other foot out of the window and pulled himself out into the open air of the night.

Below the hatch was a shallow ledge, extending along the outer wall of the building and leading to a rusted, metal ladder implanted into the wall. From there, they could climb up to the gently sloping roof, and have the best view in all of Arus. Lance finally swallowed the lump in his throat: he was much more comfortable clinging to the edge of a building in the pale moonlight than stuck in the stuffy, dark room. He breathed a little easier as the night air whipped round him and tried to pull him from the ledge. Back to the wall, he started edging along, using his bare toes to test each step before placing his full weight down.

Hunk's head appeared out of the hatch. "Get back here!" He hissed. "Someone's going to see you!"

"No they won't."

"If they don't, I will have lost faith in your Father's ability to hire a decent security team."

"Come on Hunk, it's not that bad!" Lance pleaded, trying his best to convince while systematically attempting to not fall to his death. The wall of the castle scrapped at his back as he slid himself along. He could almost reach the ladder now. Excitement curled in his stomach.

"Trust me," Lance willed, smiling encouragingly at Hunk. The other boy wasn't paying attention however, instead now grappling with Pidge as she tried to follow Lance out of the window.

He reached the ladder, quickly spinning himself and settling his feet on the rungs. "I'll see you two up there. That is, if you're not too scared." He winked at them, clambering up, up, upwards before Hunk could try and discourage him. Lance knew nothing could stop him now: after coming so far, and waiting for so long. He was used to being told no, being denied what he truly wanted, having no control over his life. But not this time.

The ascent was short, Lance quickly coming to the layers of slate adorning the castle roof. The slant was gentle, and he was able to easily clamber up towards the roof's tip. He got as high as he could go before setting himself down, long legs stretched out before him, the wind tickling between his toes. The swirling air danced around his still form, ruffling his loose shirt and pulling at his pale white hair, desperately seeking movement in the still night. He reached a hand up to smooth it as best he could, but the hair was quickly tussled again.

The castle lay before him, extending out into the darkness of the gardens. Regal and stoic, the pillared walls looked as though they were embellished with gold, towers reaching high into the sky before ending in golden turrets, the gleaning metal reaching up into the sky before abruptly ending in dark slate. It almost looked…gaudy. Lance had never seen his home from this high up, craning his neck to see his room on the far side of the castle. There was the fountain of a cherub that had been broken all summer, and there was the rose bush outside his window, so-

There was his room. A dark pane of glass. Nothing interesting to look at.

In the centre of the courtyard, great and daunting, stood a marble statue. The figure was as tall as the palace roof where Lance sat: if the marble were to move, to turn its head, he would be trapped in its piercing line of sight. Instead, the statue stands impassive and glares out across the city: deep grooves set in the cheekbones, clearly seen even in the gloomy light of the moon as they were dark with shadows on the pale stone. The Altean king looks down on his people beyond the gates, stern and eternally unimpressed. Lance shifted: his view from the side makes him almost as uncomfortable as when he stands at the statue's base and physically feels the stone glare settling on him.

His gaze drifted away, following the paths cutting through the grass surrounding the castle, the paved stones lined with flowers that would be bright red and yellow in the sunlight. They were Leo flowers, the petals arranged so they looked like the mane of a lion. They were everywhere, crowding every pathway and entrance, their sickly sweet scent inescapable as it stuck to your clothes and in your hair, bobbing gently in the late night breeze. They were the reason people referred to his home as the Castle of Lions. He had been told you could even smell their cloying perfume from beyond the palace gates.

This was what his eyes fell on next: the tall iron gates entrapping the whole regal scene, making sure to sharply isolate the castle from the city beyond. Lance had caught people before gazing through the gaps in the wrought iron before a sentry came along and shooed them away. They would gaze at the shining walls with wonder, with envy, mouths hanging open at the show of extravagance. Lance almost wanted to see the rest of the city, to understand why the palace brought such amazement to the faces of the Altean people, braving the harsh words and glares of the sentries just for a peek.

He sat there for a moment, trying to imagine the world beyond, the pale blue glow of lights dotting through the streets as far as Lance's eyes could see. Not a soul could be seen – he doubted the guards would allow anyone wandering close to the palace at this time of night. There were lives out there that he had never heard of, never even considered. He sighed, wondering briefly who he could be if he wasn't a prince.

"It's freezing!" Pidge's voice called up, almost sprinting onto the roof to be rid of the cold metal of the ladder.

"We should have brought jackets," Hunk said sensibly, transferring himself to the slate with a little more care than Pidge had. His hands rubbed at his shoulders, trying to bring warmth into them.

Lance shrugged: he liked the cool night air. The castle was always so stuffy, no matter how many windows you opened. It was as though the air within the walls had been shut away for years, trapped and sealed, growing heavy as time passed. You could fill your lungs as far as they could go, and still be unable to catch your breath.

He patted the slate next to him, beckoning them to his side. Hunk made sure to place Pidge between the two of them, clearly concerned for the younger Altean princess' safety. Lance could almost imagine the look on Allura's face if they let Pidge go rolling off the castle roof. He shuddered: even the mere memory of her blue eyes blazing in fury was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

Hunk eyed him smugly. "Jackets," Was all he said.

Lance turned to bite a retort back at him, but his voice stuttered in his throat. He thought he saw…out the corner of his eye…was it?

Pidge gasped next to him, gazing skyward with a slack jaw. He turned to follow her gaze and yes, yes, there it was! Finally!

"Woah," Hunk said quietly, almost to himself.

The dark sky, peppered with starlight, was _dancing._ Ribbons of light – blue, green, yellow, red – weaved around one another, bouncing on the wind and whipping up in soaring arcs. They crept across the sky like snakes on the ground, like fish wiggling through serene waters, reclaiming the darkness as their own. The blue Altean crystals across the city winked out of existence, the energy of the solar storm above meddling with them, as though refusing to let anything outshine them. The city was always well warned of an impending solar storm, of the hours of darkness that would follow.

But Lance didn't understand why people hated the storms so much. He didn't understand, with it before him, how they were afraid of the looming dark when there was so much _light_ here. The heavens were alive and moving, hosting a show of their own design. Dancing through space, their fiery tendrils reaching for the planet, as though to cup it in their hands. And the meeting of Earth and space resulted in an explosion of light unlike anything Lance had ever seen. People were locked in their houses, his family were tucked away in blacked out rooms, doing their best to avoid this spectacle.

He didn't understand. How had he been missing out on this for eighteen years?

The three of them sat in complete silence. Lance had no idea how long had passed – minutes, hours? He didn't care. He was transfixed, hypnotised. It made him feel so small, so meaningless. Pressure ebbed away beneath the celestial power: he was nothing, a speck to the heavens. The need to be perfect, to please, to walk the tightrope and never slip, never stumble, never fall.

He drifted away to nothing beneath the power of the cosmos.

And felt relieved.

His back had gone stiff. He hated to admit it, but the cold had made its way into his bones, and he sighed as he finally dragged his eyes from the sky to see the dim glow of the dawn resting on the horizon. The coming of the light of day broke the spell, and the three of them could speak again.

"That," Pidge croaked, her throat dry after having her jaw hang open half the night, "Was the coolest thing I have ever seen."

Hunk nodded, tears in the corners of his eyes. He reached a hand to brush them away as they fell to his cheeks. "That- that was-"

"Yep," Lance nodded in dumfounded agreement.

"I…I mean, who knew the sky…"

"Yep."

"Like that, that was…"

"Oh yeah."

The dancing lights above them were fading in the dawn, relinquishing their hold on the sky and returning to the heavens.

Lance would never be able to look at the sky the same way again.

"I think we need to go back inside," He said, words heavy with regret. He wanted to stay here, to wait day and night until the lights came back. But some part deep inside of him knew that sneaking out all night with his younger sibling and a 'servant' would have its consequences, and he didn't want to face whatever those would be.

He stood, muscles screaming in discontent as he attempted to stretch the stiffness from them. He set about cracking each of his vertebrae, to Hunk's disgust, and trying to return feeling to his butt which had numbed against the cold slate.

They all crept down the slates, taking care not to slip. Lance knew he had to see those lights again: he refused to fall off a roof and have their secret lookout taken from them just as they had found it. They hurried as best they could along the ledge, all three of them wrestling to close the hatch after they climbed back into the castle, Hunk lifting Lance so he could return the panel to its rightful place in the ceiling. They crept as fast as they dared through the hallways of the guest wing, conscious of the sun steadily rising, growing strong enough to creep through the windows and light their way.

Pidge suddenly veered off to the side with a quick wave, clearly returning to the room she had secretly claimed for who knew what purpose. Lance made a mental note to remember and ask her what she was doing in there as Hunk and he carried on, the two splitting from each other a few minutes later as Hunk returned to the servant quarters and Lance made a beeline for the blacked out room he was supposed to hide away in during the dangerous solar storms.

All of the blacked out rooms were in the same corridor, doors stretching away ahead of him, behind which he knew his various family members were sleeping soundly. Here he took extra care, knowing of Allura's bat like hearing. Shaking under the stress, eyeing the other doors in case they were to suddenly swing open and reveal an angry Altean princess, he reached out for the golden doorknob. This would be the worst part.

He took a deep breath, and slowly – so slowly- he turned his hand, slowly scrapping the latch back into the door and pressing on the wood to enter the room.

His breath burst out of his chest in relief, just as the hinges squealed like an alarm and his brain went into overdrive. He panicked, flinging himself into the room. Rushing to close the door behind him – those damned hinges _screaming –_ and the latch sliding shut with a loud click. He leant his back against the wood of the door, heart beat thundering in his ears, chest rising and falling quickly.

He heard a door in the hallway open tentatively, and the panic engulfed him again. He sprang towards his bed, stumbling in the pitch black room. He ran into the bed post, stubbing a toe and predicting the appearance of a dark bruise on his thigh later, before finally managing to make it below the covers. He arranged himself quickly: lying back, eyes shut, mouth slack, deep calm breaths that would catch on something in his throat so he made a noise that sounded like the beginning of a snore, but was too dainty to develop any further.

He'd had plenty of opportunities to work on faking being asleep over the years.

He had just managed to force his whole body to relax below the covers before he heard his door creak open. Funny, the hinges didn't squeal now.

A slit of light washed over him, and he fought as best he could to keep his face neutral and not react. The light remained for a moment, before he heard a quiet sigh and the door was shut, soft footsteps padding down the hall and returning to their room.

He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, rubbing at his eyes, feeling for the bags his mother had warned him about. He had no idea if he had gotten away with his late night escapades, but at the moment he was simply too exhausted to care.

The collar was tight. It cut into his neck, dug into his windpipe if he allowed his head to tilt forwards. Maybe that was the point: this choking contraption designed to ensure perfect posture. He kept his head held high, but he knew in a few short hours the muscles at the back of his head would be screaming at him for relief he wouldn't be able to grant them.

Not if he didn't want to get an earful from his mother.

The five siblings sat in a stoic line, staring on from the hall's side-lines, trying their best not to look bored out of their skulls. They were dressed in the same uncomfortable fashion as Lance, all trying not to shift and fidget against the hard backed chairs they were seated in. On his left was Pidge, face set into a scowl, someone having forced her into a dress _and_ managed to get a comb through the mop of white hair atop her head. Veronica fell next in the line, cheek markings burning a cheerful yellow as her eyes flitted to their mother regularly, searching for approval in her posture, how she managed to keep her fidgeting to a minimum. Only 12 years old, but she clearly took after Allura and their mother: regal, poised, face set into a pretty mask that could hide a storm. A purebred politician in the making.

Then there was Alexei.

Lance was furiously proud of the ten year old.

Everyone's dismay, the young prince clearly modelled himself after his only brother. Just like Lance had been at that age, the boy loved to play tricks, both on the royal family and the unfortunate servants that just wanted to get on with their work in peace. He swapped out sugar for salt when no one was looking, delighted in sticking random objects to the back of their mother's long skirts, leaving her to traipse around foreign company for hours, dragging her hoard of trinkets after her. A few weeks ago, he had snuck a cow into the castle and let the thing go loose, chasing after it as it crashed down the halls, the young boy screaming, "The world shall fall before the might of Kalternecker!" and waving his arms erratically above his head.

Lance had no idea where he even got a cow from.

Mischief was set deep into his eyes, his cheek markings burning a furious blue several shades darker than Lance's own. He served as a warning of what Lance would have been like without Allura to reign him in. Lance sighed at the loss of the chaos he could have wrought, had he not been kept beneath his twin's disapproving gaze.

She sat to Lance's right, the crown princess of Altea keeping her chin high and her eyes attentive. She paid attention to each word uttered, studied each exchange between her father and the Alteans that came to beg favours from the palace. She memorised each word from their father's mouth, nodding with satisfaction if she came to the same course of action as their father, scowling if their opinions differed. Lance didn't know if she scowled because she was disappointed that she hadn't gotten the same answer, or if she didn't agree with their father's decision.

Alfor could be harsh. A starving farmer could stumble in, having travelled for days, seeking aid from the capital to feed his family like he had fed the palace for many years. And Alfor would raise an unimpressed eyebrow, belittling the man for his lack of forward planning. The king would scoff, and wave him out of the room without uttering another word.

The king did not believe in charity.

People would come begging with screaming infants in their arms, the dead of winter bringing disease and weakness on its chilling winds. "They can't breathe," The parents would implore. "They won't stop shivering." "They won't eat." "They won't sleep." "Please." _"Please."_

" _Please!"_

"Do something." "Anything." "We humbly ask…" "We request…" " _We beg_ …"

Lance would often zone out for hours on end when he was forced to attend the meetings with the people: the decisions were up to his father, and one day that responsibility would pass to Allura. When that day came, Lance would still be sitting here, looking on with a blank gaze and attempting to look as though he were interested: forced to attend, but not allowed to express an opinion. On normal days, he could listen to one or two Alteans plead their case, but by now he had heard all the sob stories. Of the hunger, the thirst, the cold and the snow, the searing heat, the beasts that stalked in the dead of night, the robbers with their knives, the fathers who left their family for a better life, the mothers who abandoned infants on doorsteps and fled into the darkness, cries echoing after them, begging them to come back.

He had heard it all, and eventually he stopped trying to care. It was too much.

He knew, his father had warned them, that many of these people seeking aid were _liars._ Filthy liars coming begging to the royals because it's easier than doing the work they're supposed to. Leaching from the people who already did so much to protect them. There was always an abundance of food on the table in front of Lance, the wood straining under platters of roasted meats and steaming vegetables. The royals were a reflection of the people: the royals weren't hungry, so how could the people be?

Lance learned to filter it out: he didn't know how Alfor sifted through the liars and those in genuine need of help, and he didn't care. It didn't matter if he knew they were lying: their words tugged at his chest, ripping empathy from him whether he wished to give it or not. He couldn't take it, their manipulating words in his rib cage slashing and slashing at his insides. It was easier not to listen, not to engage. They couldn't hurt him with their lies that way. It was his only defence against their pitiful words.

Allura would try and discuss decisions she didn't agree with or understand, and Alfor's face would grow red at his decision being drawn into question. "How will you ever be a queen," he would ask with a scalding tone, "if you cannot see the deceit before you? You can't trust these people, Allura. Altea prospers because of _us,_ and yet they fall before us and beg for more, always more. Their greed threatens to consume our country: we have to protect them from themselves." Allura's eyes would flicker to the ground at that, mouth pressed in a firm line. Lance would try to reason with her later, try and make her feel better. "If we spend all our time helping those who don't need it, the people who truly do will be left without. We have to be frugal, to make sure we can help those who deserve it."

She would scowl at him, losing her royal composure in his presence. "They can't _all_ be liars."

"And they can't all be trusted."

But when the time came, Lance knew he would leave Allura to her decisions when dealing with the people. He had no business in dealing with them, and that was how he liked it.

He couldn't thank God enough for Allura having been born an hour before him. They would joke about how she must have bullied and muscled him out of the way to be born the eldest of the two, and how he was relieved to finally be on his own, taking his sweet time before emerging to grace the world with his presence several hours later. Sometimes, he wondered if Allura couldn't wait to become a princess and rushed ahead, or if he had simply shrunk back and let her go, too scared to make the first move. Or, with the task of crown prince looming before him, if he pushed Allura forwards as a shield from the responsibility.

Whatever: either way, it was a blessing Allura was born first. He would have been a terrible crown prince, and an even worse King.

A sharp elbow dug into his ribs and his eyes snapped open with the shock of pain, his back snapping to attention. He hadn't even noticed his eyes closing, but his head was swimming with exhaustion, the memory of his late night escapades coming back to him in a flash that tried to convince him to regret his choices.

He cast Allura a side eye, his sister having already regained composure after viciously attacking her brother. He hmphed quietly, trying to draw her attention to shoot her a guilt-inducing glare. She pointedly ignored him, seemingly enthralled in the 'blind' street urchin before their father begging for mercy after being caught pickpocketing nobles in the square. Alfor looked less than impressed in the dirt encrusted creature pleading on their knees in front of him.

Lance cleared his throat quietly, fishing for an apology. His side was aching: she could have cracked a rib! Or at least, bruised the soft skin there. God, she could have killed him!

She was infuriating! Not one muscle on her face twitched in response. He was growing irritated: she knew how much he detested being ignored! He cast a quick glance to his parents, but his mother was busy whispering into Alfor's ear, the two enraptured in the plea for mercy before them. Now was his chance.

He struck with the speed and accuracy of a viper, elbow flying towards its intended target, Allura's ribs relaxed in the face of their unwitting destruction. His elbow sliced through the space between them, a deadly weapon, seeking revenge for the unfair treatment of its master. He would show her, teach her of his wrath, how _dare_ she-

Mere centimetres from his target, she retaliated. Her hand blurred through the air, clamping around his elbow like the jaws of a mongoose around the viper's throat. Her fingers dug in, and she _twisted._ Lance writhed in his chair, letting out an unsanctioned yelp that he couldn't control, almost toppling off of his seat.

The entire court turned to stare at him. Of course, Allura had already righted herself and looked the picture of innocence as she stared at him with eyes filled with fake concern. He, on the other hand, was balancing precariously on the edge of his chair, arms thrown out in a bid to keep seated, and could feel Pidge's hand on his back as she had tried to keep him from falling on top of her. His face instantly grew hot and red and he quickly returned to his seat, eyes cast to the ground, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as he willed the plush carpet below him to wrap its fibres around his legs and pull him down and away from the suffocating atmosphere of the court.

Alfor cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. Lance didn't see the look of distain his father cast him, or the brief flash of guilt that passed over Allura's features. His whole body locked up, chest constricting in the fear of breathing too loudly. His head buzzed, and it took a long time for the pounding heartbeat in his ears to calm down.

When would this end?

Lance knew the day would soon come to a close, but the knowledge didn't calm his aching back, nor keep his eyelids from trying to flutter closed. He fought as best he could, not wanting to give Allura another opportunity for a sneak attack. But the events of last night had truly caught up to him, the cost of watching the sky dance evident in the fatigue that had spent the day creeping through his body and trying to shut him down, one muscle at a time.

He stifled a yawn beneath a fake cough, trying not to draw attention to how quickly he could feel himself fading.

"Idiot," he heard muttered with exasperation to his side.

His eyes narrowed at Allura: she could have been a statue, not a hair out of place, skirts cast gracefully about her form, hands folded on her lap. He thought for a moment he had imagined the comment, exhaustion playing games with him. That is, until her eyes briefly flickered to him before returning quickly to the court.

" _Excuse_ me?" Lance hissed, copying her stoic form and whispering through tense lips. They had practised this way of secret conversations their whole lives: if you kept your voice low enough, and body still enough, Alfor couldn't tell the difference from across the court. The trick was not to get drawn into any baiting and end up having an outburst. A problem Lance encountered regularly.

"If father sees you yawning like that, he'll be furious."

Lance decided to say nothing to that: it wasn't like she had provided information he didn't already know.

"What were you doing last night?" She asked, as though her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her.

"What do people do, in the dead of night I wonder?"

"Certainly not go wandering around the castle."

"Certainly not." His cheek twitched in frustration.

"So what were you doing?"

Lance could tell Pidge was listening into their conversation, her form having frozen up at the topic. There had been plenty of instances growing up where she had thrown Lance to the wolves to protect herself. But Lance knew the chance to see those lights again was at stake: there was no way he could let Allura get any information out of him if he wanted to venture out to the roof again.

"Enjoying my stay in my blacked out room. How did you sleep?" He asked innocently.

"Great," She muttered. "Until I heard someone failing to sneak back into their room early this morning."

"How strange."

"Indeed."

"Maybe they had to get up to use the bathroom?"

"Sounds possible, especially when all our rooms are equipped with personal en suites."

"Or wanted a midnight snack? That's not a crime."

"I suppose you're right. Strange though, how something so innocent would warrant someone to pretend they were sleeping when their dear, sweet sister came to check on them."

The hair at Lance's neck prickled: he should have known better than to hope and have her fooled. The two had shared a room for the better part of their lives, Lance's distrust of the dark making it difficult to separate the pair. Allura knew better than anyone when Lance was truly asleep: she had had enough practise at telling the two apart.

His sister was like a dog with a bone: her interest was piqued, she wasn't going to stop until he gave her an answer.

So he would give her what she wanted: not the truth, but something she was used to hearing from him.

"There was a party."

She rolled her eyes, stifling a sigh. "I should have known."

Lance felt his mouth smirk at how easily she believed him: Allura may be smarter than him, but her major downfall was how she underestimated him. She couldn't consider he was lying because this was a story she had pried out of him countless times, why should this time around be any different?

"Where?"

"As if I would tell you."

"Who?"

"Does it matter?"

The pair sat in silence for a minute, and Lance thought their conversation was over. He longed for the days where he and Allura could just be friends. They had always been there for one another, until they started having responsibility piled on them. Lance had shied away from it as best he could, rejecting his unwanted role as prince. He sat silently at political meetings, mouth firmly kept shut. At palace balls he kept as far from dignified company as he could, choosing instead to indulge in his taste for wine and flirt with whatever pretty thing caught his eye. The Altean prince's silver tongue was famous, and girls and boys alike would keep him in their line of sight as he would make his way through the crowd, searching for a glint of mischief amongst the horde that merely wanted to spend time with him so they could tell their friends about it.

Allura, on the other hand, was a natural.

As the title of crown princess went to her head, the distance between the twins grew. They got separate rooms, ended up at opposite end of the hall during balls - Lance would be sent to Shiro to train in defence and weaponry as was befitting of a young man, and Allura would spend hours upon hours in the library, devouring every page of writing she could get her hands on. The captain of the guard did not deal with Lance lightly, training him alongside his soldier and guards, expecting no less from the Prince of Altea. People would come to view his progress, whispering mockingly behind hands as he was continuously cast into the mud by those better equipped than him, further spreading the rumours of the useless Altean prince, hoping for peace to continue lest they had to consider sending him to fail them in battle. He would wish for the freedom to spend his time alone like Allura did, but he wasn't trusted to be left to his own devices.

They quickly became different people, with very different priorities. Allura was a princess, first and foremost. While Lance just wanted to be his own person, and refused to abandon everything about himself that didn't fit into the mould of a prince.

He missed his sister. Missed when she could be convinced to cause mischief with him. Missed when she didn't watch over him like a second mother, scolding him for his misgivings.

Allura's response came quick and quiet, and Lance almost missed it in the silence that had developed between the pair. "I miss you." It was said tentatively, the sweet sentiment unexpected, yet playing so close to Lance's own thoughts that it unnerved him how well she could read him.

"It has been a while," He said carefully, wondering what caused her to drop her princess façade with him so suddenly.

When did he start treating her with such suspicion? He had no idea when he had started to keep her at arm's length, treating one another like strangers.

"My room, tonight?"

He snorted quietly, "Are you going to berate me some more for my un-princely manner?"

He didn't miss the flash of hurt that twisted her features before she could catch it. Guilt twisted in his gut "Actually, I was thinking chocolate. And face masks."

Damn.

 _Damn._

She knew she had him. She knew how to work her way to his core and manipulate him into doing whatever she wanted, knew exactly how to exploit his weakness.

If he was ever in need of a decent face mask, today was the day. He had missed his routine last night, too distracted by the night's plans. Not to mention those bags that he swore he could feel swelling beneath his eyes. If he didn't do something soon, he feared his delicate skin would start breaking out.

Allura had turned her back on her cleansing gifts long ago: she had a recipe for every skin ailment, had been there through every awkward stage of Lance's early teenage years where his skin was at war with him. It had been so long since they had spent an evening of pampering together. She knew he couldn't say no.

So he didn't.

"Don't forget the cucumber," He warned, and she smiled.

The pair returned to silence, and Lance had to admit he was looking forward to spending time with his sister.

Alfor dismissed the blubbering Altean before him with an exasperated wave. Lance had missed the outcome of their visit, but it didn't look like it had gone well. "I grow weary," Alfor announced to no one in particular, yet the whole room snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. "That will be all for today." Across the room, chairs scrapped the floors as the court simultaneously stood. Lance pushed to stand in a fluid motion, his stiff back cracking as he did so. He made a mental note that when Allura was queen, he would convince her to start including tea breaks into the day's proceedings.

He stood impatiently: no one could leave until the king and queen had made their exit, and Alfor was taking his sweet time. Lance's muscles screamed at him for a good stretch, and still he had to deny them.

When he got back to his room, he would call for a bath. Yes, that should wake him up, and hopefully get his body back in working order. He would exfoliate and make sure his skin was ready for whatever Allura would cook up for them. He could almost feel the warm water against his body, his skin itching to submerge itself and stay hidden beneath the surface until he felt more like himself.

He was lost to the world, so transfixed by the bath steaming in his mind's eye that he didn't notice the scuffle at the door, or the sound of bodies being thrown back against a wall. He didn't notice the cloaked figure enter the room to a chorus of gasps from the crowd, nobles hastily stepping out of the way as they approached, their face hidden from view beneath a large hood, pale white hair hanging long and straggly, swaying with their gait. He didn't even notice how Alfor's face changed from anger to fear, and back again, as though at a loss of which emotion to feel. He stood frozen in front of his throne, simply staring as the person stepped closer and closer.

The figure loudly stamped their foot on the floor, and Lance's attention was caught just as every Balmeran crystal in the room exploded in a shower of deadly shards. The descending blackness was instant, not even leaving a trace of the comforting blue glow in its wake. There were screams, sounds of panic, as nobles tried to run, flee to the edges of the room, trying to avoid the fragments raining down from what was once the chandelier.

Lance hissed as he felt crystal cut at his cheek. He blindly reached out for his siblings, for anyone, drawing them close in an attempt to protect them. Pidge and Veronica huddled into his chest, clinging to his shirt. The room was in darkness, in chaos as the volume of the crowd grew in their panic. Lance heard his voice join theirs, calling for Allura, for Alexei. The shower of glass had calmed, crystal tinkling and crunching beneath panicked feet.

"Alexei!" Lance called, feeling hysteria claw in his chest. There was nothing but darkness, wrapping tight around him and trying to pull him from his senses. "Alexei!" He shouted again, hearing his voice quiver despite himself. "Allura!"

A hand pressed to his back, firmly gripping his shirt. "I'm here. I'm okay," Allura's voice came from his side.

Three out of four. Where had the youngest royal gone? Lance felt frozen for a second, unsure of how to start looking for his brother in the blinding, constricting dark.

He bit into his lip, feeling blood beginning to run from the cut on his cheek. "Stay with Pidge and Veronica," He told Allura, passing the two younger sisters in her direction. He felt her hands flutter against his arm, blindly reaching to keep him from leaving.

"But-"

"Stay here!" He ordered with authority he didn't know he possessed. He stumbled forwards, feeling his way forward, desperately whispering his brother's name. The darkness clawed at his throat: they were trapped in the hall with someone who was at best psychotic and at worst homicidal, and he couldn't see a fucking thing, couldn't hear anything over the shouts of panic, and his little brother had disappeared directly into the chaos.

The tightness was returning to his chest, his ears buzzing loudly. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't _breathe-_

From the centre of the room a flickering purple light was beginning to glow, so softly at first that Lance thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The pulsing light grew, strong enough to light the hand that clasped it, the hooked fingers and clawed nails of the hooded figure. The crystal, small enough to be held in a mere palm, glowed with enough force to rival that of the chandelier. The single crystal illuminated half of the hall in its pulsing purple light, the colour causing a lump to form in Lance's throat. The colour made him uneasy: it was almost as suffocating as the darkness had been. The light struck fear into him, and unconsciously halted his progress of searching for Alexei.

He could see his father again, shielding his mother with his body. Alfor's features had settled on anger, and his gaze bore through the daunting figure before him.

"Who are you?" The king's commanding voice rang out, seemingly unafraid of the hooded stranger.

A hollow cackle rang out from beneath the hood, the voice hoarse and cracking. "My dear king, do you not recognise me?"

The voice was oddly familiar to Lance, and he finally paid his full attention to the cloaked figure. Using her free hand, she pulled at the hood, the cloth coming away and falling back around her shoulders. Lance swallowed uneasily.

She was Altean.

But, she was not.

Alfor's eyes narrowed, and he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. "Haggar," He said with distain.

Recognition struck Lance, remembering a night from years before filled with the sound of swords clashing and the cold curl of dread in his stomach.

The king's old confidante had changed in the last few years.

Her once brown hair had gone a stark white, parodying that of the royal family's. It hung around her face and shoulders limply, looking as though it belonged to a corpse. It was hard to tell in the coloured light, but Lance could swear there was something wrong with her skin. It looked…purple. He blinked furiously, trying to tell in the difficult lighting.

Her eyes glowed the cautious yellow of a warning. Her pupils, her irises, were non-existent, glaring up at Alfor through their glowing haze. The pulsing light caught on the sharp edges of her face, accenting the shadows and ridges of her weathered features. There were black shapes below her eyes, akin to the glowing marks reserved for those of royal blood. But from what Lance remembered, the woman was of common blood. Her cheeks had been unadorned like the rest of the nation.

Something dark was running down her cheek. Lance squinted, unsure what he was seeing. It looked like…

Like…

Like blood.

It struck Lance that these new marks were manmade. They had been carved into the skin, forced to embellish what was never meant to be, tracks of red blood running from them like tears. The blood hung from her jaw for a second, before the drops fell and fell to the ground like rain. Lance's skin crawled at the self-mutilation, the air of madness that surrounded the woman.

The woman had once been Alfor's right hand, lending him aid in anything he required. The family had trusted her whole heartedly: she was always the first to be presented with problems that needed to be solved. They trusted her opinion wholeheartedly.

They shouldn't have.

Haggar was power mad, and hungry. And that made her dangerous.

She wanted the power of the royals, wanted to hold Altea in the palm of her hand. She was a fraud, whispering lies into Alfor's ears, trying to turn him against those he trusted most. She fed lies of Lance's mother's infidelity, roping Shiro into the scenario. How the king's closest nobles were planning his downfall. How his children planned to poison him to take the throne out from under him.

She fed him these lies and filled his mind with dark magic, her unholy powers ensnaring the king's senses and forcing him to see her truth. One night, Alfor had called his family to the hall, let them be thrown to the ground before his throne. Alexei was only five years old, crying in Allura's arms as she held him close. Lance remembered the feel of the cold marble floor beneath his hands, unable to focus on anything other than Alfor, standing above the five of them, wielding his sword and weighing them up in his eyes as though they were ants that required crushing beneath his boot.

They heard Haggar's whispers wrapping around them, how the children were traitors. That he should kill them before they could do the same to him. Lance remembered a weak whimper escaping his lips. He remembered the way his stomach seemed to fall from his body as he was zeroed in Alfor's merciless gaze, and the sword was pointed towards him.

He froze. He had no idea what to do - had never been in a fight in his life. And here was his trusted father, trained in the arts of war, levelling a sword at his chest. And the poor boy simply shook with fear, unable to move from the floor.

He had Shiro to thank for saving his life that day.

The disgraced captain of the guard had somehow escaped the castle prison, convinced that Haggar was at the root of all this trouble. He burst into the room, running at Alfor before the king could raise his sword at Lance. The sound of metal clashing rang out and Lance fell backwards as Shiro pushed him out of the way to strike at the king. Shiro was a mere foot soldier back then, a nameless face amongst the palace guard, but his skills rivalled those of the king.

Alfor easily defended, moving on instinct, eyes wide with madness. The witch stood on the fringes of the fight, her whispers growing louder and louder with each strike Shiro made. Lance could see his father weakening against the younger man, the constant whispering confusing him. They could see the fog lift briefly from his eyes as he stumbled backwards, staring at his sword as though it had a mind of its own. Shiro continued relentlessly, not giving Alfor a second to recover.

The witch was hissing now, backing away from the two men. She was losing her grip on the king, the situation slipping away between her clenched fingers. Shiro lunged and managed to trip Alfor, the king falling onto his back and having his sword kicked away from his outstretched hand.

Lance would never forget what happened next.

As he lay on the ground, frozen in fear, unable to think or breath, he watched as Allura set Alexei down and stood, facing the witch. He watched, horrified, as Allura ran at the witch and tackled her to the ground, trying her best to subdue her.

He lay on the ground, trembling, and watched as his sister managed to beat the witch back. He heard how the witch yelled as her grasp on the king finally broke, the addition of the thirteen year old girl too much of a distraction. Allura screamed as she swiped at the woman's face, and Lance watched as Alfor came back to himself, blinking slowly as if trying to shake off the grip of a bad dream. Shiro helped him stand, and from there the two descended on the witch, Alfor dragging Allura back behind him.

In the face of drawn swords and murderous looks, the witch _laughed._ Alfor swung the final blow, but before his sword could descend Haggar's body was suddenly surrounded by a whirlwind of air, pulling at her long dark hair, her flowing dress. She continued to cackle as the force pushed Alfor and Shiro back, cackled as the wind seemed to rip her apart. She began to disappear before their very eyes, the echo of her laugh the only sign that she had ever been in the hall at all.

"How dare you return to the palace!" Alfor's furious voice brought Lance back to the present.

"But sire, I am but your loyal confidante." Her voice rasped painfully on each word, as though she wasn't used to speaking.

"You are a traitor," Alfor spat. His hand went to the sword at his waist that he mainly kept for ceremony. "Get out!"

"Psst, _Lance!"_ A voice hissed behind him.

Lance spun round fast enough to make his head spin, and spied Alexei hiding beneath a table, using the table cloth to shield himself. Lance sighed shakily: the kid clearly had a more level head for dealing with dangerous situations than Lance did. He crawled down beside him, trying to keep Alexei behind him.

"You dare attempt to banish me?" Haggar hissed. "You, this kingdom, is _nothing_ without me."

The purple crystal's light began to grow, turning too bright to look at directly. Lance shielded Alexei's eyes, trying to keep the witch in his line of sight. The hall began to rumble around them, glasses on the tables shuddering and clattering to the ground. Lance and Alexei shrank back, avoiding the onslaught of falling glassware.

"And I will return you to nothing."

The rumbling intensified, and Haggar raised her voice to shout. "I promise that within the next seven days, King Alfor and his family will die.

"I will wipe their poisonous line from existence like the scourge that they are! None shall be left standing, and Altea will finally be free!" By the end of the speech, Haggar was screaming, the room starting to fall apart from the violent shaking. She tightened her grasp on the purple crystal, shattering it in her hand.

The room filled with a blinding purple light as the architecture reached its limit. Lance dragged Alexei further beneath the table, sheltering him with his body as it sounded like the hall was coming down on top of them. Pieces of the ceiling rained down with a thunderous sound, and Lance prayed the table was strong enough to fend off their attack. He prayed that Allura and Pidge and Veronica were okay. And he prayed that the world would right itself again soon.

"Are we going to die?" Alexei whispered in his arms, barely audible over the sound of the world falling apart beyond the table.

Lance didn't know if the boy meant right this very moment, or from the witch's threat. Either way he didn't feel like answering, and instead held Alexei fiercely to his chest as though his arms could keep the world away.

In the coming weeks, he would learn that there was nothing he could do to help his family. Their world was going to end, whether he liked it or not.

When the dust had settled, the witch was gone. Nobles stumbled around fallen debris, shaking with panic, at a loss over what they were supposed to do. Guards rushed in and froze, taking in the scene before them. They too looked lost, unsure of how to find order amidst the chaos before them.

Lance and Alexei stayed beneath the table until Alfor was heard, barking orders, demanding search parties to hunt the witch down and the need to train more guards, boost their forces. The royal family could not be made an example of this way!

"Come on, kiddo," Lance said encouragingly, leading them both out from their hiding place. Alexei clung fiercely to his hand, afraid to lose his grip. Lance's fingers curled just as tightly, scared to lose sight of the ten year old again. His brother had tears in his eyes, but he sniffed defiantly as they emerged, refusing to cry amongst such esteemed company.

Lance couldn't blame him: he too felt shaken to his core, shocked at the turn of events that had occurred on what had started as such a normal day. Thoughts of sitting helpless before his father's drawn sword played unwanted in his mind: she had tried to kill them once, and was gearing up for another go at it. It was mere chance that Shiro had escaped and saved him last time: Lance worried he wouldn't be so lucky again.

Alfor cast him a disapproving look as he emerged with Alexei. As though Lance should have been the one to take charge. He was the eldest brother: he wasn't next in line for the throne. He was expendable, replaceable, and he should have done something.

One look sent Lance's mind down this path of doubt. He had hidden beneath a table, for Christ's sake, while his entire family was threatened. Alfor's look quickly flickered away to more important matters, and shame burned deep within Lance.

Allura was fine: his sisters had been lucky, somehow avoiding being hit by falling debris as they had cowered together. Their faces were coated with powder from the crumbling walls, their hair plastered with the stuff and making their silver colour grey and lifeless. Tears had cut through the dust on Veronica's cheeks, and Pidge's face was set in a hard mask of fear. Lance pulled them to him quickly, thankful that they were okay. He peered at Allura over their heads, and waved her over to join them. Alexei clung to his legs, and the five siblings embraced, glad to be with one another. Their family, their lives, had been threatened, and that fear was sitting atop them all with an iron weight, pressing its anxiety down their throats and into their chests.

"We better still be on for face masks," Lance muttered in Allura's ear, and she surprised him by managing a terse chuckle.

"You bet," She said, struggling to control the wobble in her voice. "All this stress is going to make me break out."

Lance had never loved her more. He felt his arms tighten around his family, and stayed that way for as long as he could.


	2. Sometimes the Days, They Feel So Long

Lance lay back and breathed in deep, relishing the scent of fresh cucumber, especially strong from the cool slices he had placed over his eyes. Finally, his chance to reduce those tired bags he had been worrying about all day.

At least his mother hadn't noticed.

The familiar scent and scene caused the tension to automatically melt out of his muscles, but did little to defer the anxiety that gripped his chest like a vice. It had moved in around his heart and lungs since earlier in the day when Haggar had made her appearance, and was making itself at home by gripping tightly to his insides. He doubted that all the cucumber in the world could remove it now.

"Comfy?" Allura enquired. He heard her settle down in the chair across from him. Her face mask had turned out a daunting electric blue in colour, and Lance had shied away from asking her what was in it. He figured ignorance was his friend, and regardless of colour it felt wondrously cool against his tense skin.

"Mmhh," He sighed, letting his mind grow fuzzy. It had been an especially tiring day, all things considered, and he just wanted to float free from his body.

"How's the face mask?"

He mumbled an incoherent reply back, the mask now dry enough to threaten cracking if he moved. He respected the sanctity of skincare too much to risk the integrity of the mask. Allura should know that, and should certainly know better than attempt to make conversation during this time of the clay setting.

Silence stretched between the twins and Lance felt his mind wandering, just glad to have the distraction from Haggar and her threats.

Allura cleared her throat. "We need to talk."

A new coil of dread curled in Lance's gut, but he didn't respond. Hopefully she would get the hint, and if not maybe she would think he had fallen asleep?

"Today was crazy-"

"Mmft," Lance groaned as sarcastically as he could – crazy was an understatement.

"But, if anything, it highlights the importance of what I'm going to say-"

The sense of dread was growing stronger, forcing Lance to sit up. The cucumber fell away from his eyes, one slice then another, as he zeroed his gaze in on Allura. Her pale hair had been scraped up into a messy nest atop her head, baby hairs at the edge of her face curling and sticking to the blue clay. Her pink cheek markings glowed faintly beneath the mask, and she was staring at him earnestly.

He narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

She sighed, making herself hold his eye. "You need to start taking up more responsibility."

He snorted, somewhat shocked at this ambush yet feeling as though some part of him should have expected something like this.

"I'm serious," She said sternly. She crossed her arms across her chest, back held as straight as a queen. "You're the eldest _prince_ of Altea, Lance. It's not all fun and games and parties: you have a platform, and you need to use it."

"You mean to tell me," Lance said, trying his best to keep movement of his face to a minimum. His speech was clipped as a result, but he carried on as delicately as he could, "that you brought me here just to lecture me?"

"Primarily for a pamper session, but-"

He held his hand up to silence her, needing a moment to process the situation. "You mean to tell me," He started again, speaking slowly and deliberately, "That you _lured_ me here-"

"I wouldn't exactly say lured-"

"Under false pretences of face masks-"

"They weren't false, you're wearing one aren't you?"

"So you could ambush me-"

"How else was I supposed to talk to you?"

"And force me into having to sit through a lecture by my own sister?" Betrayal swam in his chest, and his sister's maturity made him sick. He had done all he could to place himself as far from responsibility as possible, making himself appear undeserving and unfit for such duties. It didn't matter what he wanted apparently, Altea was clearly her priority.

"I'm out of here," He muttered, starting to stand.

"Wait!" She shouted. He paused at the sheer volume of her voice, caught off guard at the sudden outburst. "You'll crack the face mask if you go moving about too much!"

Damn.

She had him there.

He glared at her, considering. Was it worth it? This was a perfect opportunity to storm out. But then again, depending on how this conversation was going to go, this may be the last face mask Allura would ever make him. Perhaps it was better to let her say her piece now rather than later, and take the time to enjoy the mask before he washed it off and it was gone forever.

Still glaring, he sat back down, laying back and reaching for two fresh slices of cucumber to block his traitorous sister from sight. Considering for a moment, he reached for a third slice and slid it between his lips, crunching as obnoxiously loudly as he could.

"You have ten minutes," He warned her, mouth still full, "Then I'm washing my face and I'm out of here."

She promptly launched into her speech as smoothly as if she had practised it, which Lance didn't doubt that she had. "I am going to become Queen relatively soon, and I need all the support I can get. Pidge, Veronica, Alexei – they're all still too young, the court wouldn't listen to them. And while father and mother are there to advise me, in all honesty I'm not sure I entirely trust their judgement.

"They belong to a different age: watching how they deal with the Alteans who come to us for help, I can't help but find myself disagreeing with their decisions more times than not. They are a product of a time when rations were scarce, where the royal family had to remain godlike and above the common people to stay in control. Where our glowing markings were those of mighty deities, beings to be feared and respected and listened to.

"But Altea is prospering: we have the supplies to help these people. But we don't. They don't see that that is a problem, Lance. That we shouldn't be using fear to keep a grip on our own people. We should be able to trust those who come begging for aid. We should not hesitate to help them where we can.

"You and I have always been a unit, a team. From birth, we have had each other's backs. We've seen the injustice for what it is, and we have an opportunity to right it when I take the throne. My voice isn't going to be enough against the court: no matter how many crowns I hold, I need allies to back me up and help to turn the tide. They would listen to someone like you, Lance. You have the charm, the charisma, to get them on your side. I've never had such skills, you know I haven't - but you do. If you just applied yourself, there's no telling what you would manage to do."

She stopped talking, giving him a moment to consider her words. He reached for another slice of cucumber and chewed thoughtfully, drawing out the action. A range of reactions rose within him, some level headed, some rash, and some blatant lies that would tell her exactly what she wanted to hear.

He swallowed his mouthful, pondering another moment. "Is that the whole sales pitch?" His tone was clipped, but no longer just because of the face mask. A _unit,_ she said. A _team._ It almost made him laugh – they had been anything but for a long time now. He could see she wasn't interested in him as a person, just her own agenda.

"Lance-"

"It's just, you're usually so much more convincing. When you want to be." He wished he could raise an eyebrow right now, but the mask kept everything firmly in place.

"I didn't think you would require much convincing, considering it's the right thing to do."

He snorted, "I believe that, considering the plan you constructed to get me here and keep me from leaving."

Her tone turned defensive: "I just thought this was the best chance I had to get through to you."

"If I just applied myself," He said sarcastically, "I could become less of an embarrassment, and be an asset to her majesty?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant, Allura."

"Look, Lance," She sighed, "You cannot deny that father can be cruel, that he has a narrow mind and very little empathy. We should be helping people, not casting them aside."

"What do you know Allura?" The mask was clinging tightly to his face, keeping his face neutral as emotion flourished beneath its surface. Betrayal, anger, disappointment – he wondered when she had lost sight of him as a brother and replaced him with a tool to be used, just like everybody else.

He supposed he should stop viewing her as his sister. She was going to be his queen, and that's all she had time for.

"You've never even been outside of the palace," He continued. "You've never talked to these people, or seen how they live. What if father is right, did you ever consider that? Why would he lie? As king, surely he feels as strongly as you do for these people. Why wouldn't he want to help them?"

She spluttered for a moment, as though she couldn't understand how he could be so dense – as though all of this was obvious. "Because that's how he is Lance. How he was raised to rule."

"And he's ruled for how long now? He's kept the country together during the war with Diabazaal, during the crystal shortage and the darkness, during draughts and floods and storms. He's seen the world: you haven't."

"Neither have you Lance," She countered. "How can you just take his word for what it's like out there?"

"Because I don't know any better, and I can admit that."

The mask was beginning to crack, movement returning around his mouth and along his cheeks. He could feel flakes lifting away and drifting to the ground, but he didn't care anymore. "We aren't a team," He said with unexpected venom. He quickly sat up and pulled the cucumber from his eyes – he couldn't hide behind them any longer. He bit at a nail, avoiding her gaze as he said, "You left the team a long time ago. You're only talking to me now because you've found use of me. It's not fair for you to play with me like this, and I'm not going to fall for it because you prepared the perfect speech. I can see through that Allura, I can see through _you._ This – this isn't fair."

"Lance," She started, at a loss for what else to say. "I swear, it's not like that."

"You said you missed me," He said, shaking his head slowly. "You always did know just what to say to get me to do what you wanted."

"I do miss you-"

"No you don't." He cut her off. Lance turned and met her eye, surprised to see them welling up with tears. Caught in her trick. He had little sympathy as he stood, anger coursing through him. It had been so long since they could just be themselves, no politics getting in their way. Great sections of the mask were falling away now, and he let them, allowing it to crumble away. "You miss who you want me to be. But I will never be that person, Allura. I can't be them without giving up everything about myself that I actually like - giving up everything that you and father hate. I didn't ask to be born wearing a crown, and I'm not going to lose myself for something I don't want. Not like you have."

He couldn't take it anymore. He was too tired, too emotionally drained after the afternoon's events. He was purely focussed on his family's survival, but Allura was too preoccupied with her games. He didn't have the time or energy for this.

He left the room, taking care to slam the door after him.

He reached his room and went straight to the bathroom, unable to wait on the water growing hot before starting to scrub at his face. The water from the tap was ice cold and he didn't care, almost welcoming the shock to his system. He scrubbed at his skin as his hands came away blue, the cobalt colour running along the porcelain and disappearing down the drain. He continued on even when the water ran clear, rubbing his skin raw as the water grew scalding. He looked up into the mirror, breathing heavily, taking in his reddened cheeks, his white hair that had grown damp with his vigorous washing. It clung to his forehead, rivulets of water running from the strands and down his face.

The marks on his cheeks sat there, mocking him, glowing steadily. How many times over the years had he stared at Hunk's plain cheeks with envy, wishing to be blessed with a regular life? Cooped up in the palace, dressed up to be shown off like a prize horse, kept in the background and out of trouble. He wasn't a person. He didn't have a self. He was the Altean prince, second in line to the throne, and that was all he could be. There was no room for Lance beyond the title.

He splashed water in his face once again for good measure, and turned off the tap. He pressed a soft towel to his face and breathed heavily. He didn't feel any better: doubt and anxiety constricted his chest and he needed to _move_ , needed to do something to distract himself.

He remembered the last place he felt peace and promptly exited his room, stealth forgotten as he marched numbly through the empty halls.

Getting onto the roof was harder without Hunk's help, but he was desperate enough to manage it, breaking into one of the nearby rooms for a chair. The sky was dark and lifeless above him, and he stared up hopefully. There would be no solar storms tonight, but still he stared. Stared until his eyes watered and tears ran swiftly down his cheeks.

The slate of the roof was cold and unwelcoming, and distantly he remembered he was barefoot and merely wearing pyjamas from his plans with Allura. He couldn't help shivering, but refused to leave.

He just needed those lights again. He just needed to be reminded that there was more to the world than this palace, his title. He needed to be shown his life was meaningless next to the power of the cosmos. He just wanted to be able to breathe again.

Heavy footfalls were suddenly heard from the direction of the ladder, and Lance froze. He swiftly looked around, but there was nowhere to run, his only escape being the ladder itself. A lump formed in his throat as he realised he was trapped, and the sound of boots on the ladder climbing ever closer.

A hand graced the edge of the roof, followed by a tuft of white hair and a large scar, almost cutting his unwelcome guest's face into two halves. Shiro halted his progress as he addressed Lance, huddled with his knees against his chest in his pyjamas, cheek marks glowing stark blue in the darkness.

"My prince," Shiro greeted him, amusement clear in his voice.

Uh oh.

This couldn't be good.

"C-captain," Lance nodded at him, hoping to cling to any authority he may still possess. Quickly he wiped the tears from his cheeks, promptly soaking his shirt sleeve.

"Enjoying some late night star gazing?" Shiro said with a raised brow, still not moving from the ladder.

Lance sighed. Screw beating around the bush. "What do you want, Shiro?"

"My men reported an imposter creeping around on the palace roofs. Wanted to shoot them down." He said with a pointed tone, "Shoot first, ask questions later. It is their policy, as you well know."

"Then why didn't they?" Lance said with a joking voice, "I thought you trained your men better than that, captain?"

Shiro made his way up the last of the ladder, gently stepping onto the roof and making his way to Lance. His boots clipped loudly on the slate, the man walking unnaturally gracefully towards him. He wore his auspicious captain's uniform: black trousers with the golden trim down the leg, and an ostentatious gold and red jacket complete with shoulder tassels. He took a seat beside Lance without asking, and sat quietly looking at the sky as though searching for what had captured Lance's fascination.

Lance refused to break the silence between them, and instead he returned to his quest of the heavens, attempting to call the lights back down to earth.

The quiet between the two stretched. And stretched.

Lance shifted uncomfortably, trying to still his body's tremors. Shiro aptly ignored him.

Fine – Lance would ignore him too.

The wind whistled between them.

Quiznack, the man was stoic. Planted like a stone, Lance was pretty sure not even his hair shifted in the night's breeze.

Silence made Lance uneasy. But he wouldn't be the first to break it. He wouldn't-

"Okay," He said hastily, cursing himself already for his weak restraint. "I'm ready to go back inside."

Shiro merely cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Don't bother with your weird ninja mind jutsu Shiro, it's not going to work."

Shiro shrugged, "I don't know what you mean." But yet the man still made no move to leave.

Neither did Lance.

He sighed, and gave in. "I just needed a minute," He admitted, not wishing to elaborate.

Shiro nodded thoughtfully. "Understandable. It has been a difficult day."

Lance decided to play off of Haggar's appearance instead of focussing on his fight with Allura. "Last time she was here she almost killed you Shiro, almost killed Allura and Pidge and-"

"And you." Shiro interrupted.

Lance shifted uneasily, hugging his knees tighter. "And I couldn't do anything about it. Shiro…I'm powerless to help my family, or save them."

"That's not your job," Shiro said gently. "It's why I'm here, and the guard. We've dealt with her before – nothing is going to happen to you."

"You would have said that last time," Lance said quietly, unable to stop himself. He risked a glance at Shiro whose face remained frustratingly calm. "It was just luck that I wasn't skewered before you turned up."

Shiro's face curled slowly into a reassuring smile, "Then luck is on your side."

Lance laughed weakly, shaking his head. "Cheesy."

The wind was beginning to pick up, whistling through the various buildings on the palace grounds. Lance hugged his knees tighter, trying to stave off the chill. He still felt uneasy, the thought of being shut away to his rooms causing his gut to twist and churn.

"Why did you come up here?" Shiro asked.

Lance shrugged. "I don't know," He said, not willing to elaborate on what he had been looking for, the feeling he had been hoping for. It didn't matter now anyway – clearly he wasn't going to find the relief he was after. But he was glad for Shiro – he was glad he wasn't alone. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. "I just…needed a chance to leave everything behind. For a minute."

Lance didn't know if Shiro understood what he was trying to say, or if he had thoroughly confused the man, but he nodded slowly and thoughtfully as though he knew exactly what Lance was talking about.

Lance searched for a change of topic, not enjoying the focus that he felt was placed on him. He glanced at Shiro, searching the man's serene features. "Father told us that you were captured by the Galra. During the war."

Shiro nodded slowly, but said nothing.

"Is that how you got your scar?" Lance pressed, curiosity getting the better of him.

The smile that graced Shiro's lips looked pained, as though stretched too far to conceal the memories that lay below it. "One of many," He said gently.

"And why your hair is white?"

"It was a…stressful time."

Lance knew he was being rude. He knew he had been raised better than this. But he had trained regularly with Shiro for years, and had never summoned up the courage to ask before. Had merely heard whispers in the guard station of the captain's past, the horrors he had faced. He wanted to learn about someone else: everything about Lance was on display for others to view and judge, he wanted to hear other stories and hardships and heartache and joy. He felt so naïve, so dumb and closed off to the world beyond. He wanted to know what lay there, what he would have encountered and experienced if he had been born anyone other than who he was.

"How long were you there?"

Shiro gazed skywards, allowing the memory to rear up briefly, keeping a tight grip on it. "A year. I was just a foot soldier in your father's army, one of the faceless thousands sent to fight and die and be captured."

Lance's imagination ran wild with thoughts of the conditions Shiro would have endured, but he didn't dare ask the man to elaborate. He had been told of gruesome encampments, of cold, and starvation, and torture for the sheer hell of it. He could see Shiro trying to keep a lid on the experiences and keep them at bay, and Lance felt guilt wash through him. He was selfish, doing what he could to distract himself from his own problems. And Shiro would not begrudge the prince his answers. A lump formed in Lance's throat as Shiro carefully continued.

"I met some good people there. Lost a fair amount of them too. I was sent there with my best friend, met the love of my life there-" His voice cut off abruptly, and Lance suspected he had done so to keep his voice from breaking.

"We escaped." He continued slowly. "A group of us, together. It turns out one of the prisoners that escaped with us was the son of a noble in your father's court. That friendship was how I came to work for the palace guard. How I got here."

Shiro was clearly finished, and Lance tried to convince himself that his curiosity had been placated. He wanted details, wanted to know exactly how it happened. Did he and his best friend make it out together? What about this person he fell in love with? What happened to them – Lance hadn't heard any rumours of the captain being sweet on anyone, let along being seen in public in another's company. But here he put his foot down, listening to that little voice in his head that told him he knew better than to push for more. Because Shiro would give them up if asked. And Lance didn't feel right demanding such things from him.

"With Haggar…I'm not afraid of her coming after me. I mean, I am. But not as much as I think I should be…" Lance was struggling to process his emotions into words, grasping at the sentences that ran through his fingers like sand. He wanted to be sure of how he felt, instead of stumbling between fear and anger and desperation. He wanted to know where he stood.

"I'm afraid for my family." He heard the sentence leave his lips, and pondered it for a moment. Yes, that was the source of what was swirling around his chest. His fear was not for his own life, but that of his parents, his siblings. He may not see eye to eye with Allura or his father, but at the end of the day he would do anything to protect them. It was their safety that had Lance's stomach in knots, and he was unable to convince himself that there was anything he could do to help them.

"Your father pays me to protect you, Lance. All of you."

"He pays a lot of people," Lance said absentmindedly.

"And I need you to trust me that I will do my job." Shiro clapped him on the back suddenly, and Lance's spine snapped straight, the muscles remembering the days of etiquette school and slaps to the back for bad posture. "But he does not pay me enough to catch my death sitting on a freezing rooftop with you," Shiro chuckled and stood, reaching his hand down to help Lance to his feet. A burst of wind blew through the two of them and Lance gripped at his shoulders to keep from shivering. Perhaps stargazing in pyjamas wasn't the best of ideas.

"Can I trust you not to go sliding off the roof, or do I need to carry you down?" Shiro asked with a quirked smile, voice warm with humour. The memories that Lance had dredged up had clearly been put away, and Shiro seemed no worse for wear. Lance would have to remind himself in the future not to press the man

"I do love playing the damsel," Lance said with a chuckle, edging his way towards the roof edge. His numb toes gripped at the cold slate as he reached the ladder, taking the first couple of rungs quickly.

Shiro laughed. "Oh, just wait till tomorrow, I am going to make you regret your late night adventures." The captain continued to laugh as Lance froze on the ladder, the threat hanging between them.

"Adventures?" Lance asked innocently, tilting his head in mock sincerity.

"Don't think that I don't know that you dragged that poor servant boy and your sweet little sister up here last night," Shiro said with a glint in his eye. "I have eyes all over the palace, Lance. I know when you're up to no good."

Shiro looked down at him, sporting a shit eating grin. "And tomorrow, you're in for a world of hurt."

Lance gulped diligently, having the good sense to look down and make his way back to his rooms quickly and quietly, Shiro trailing along behind his shoulder to make sure he didn't stray from his path.

The sun was beginning to set, streaks of fiery red and blazing yellow stretching their grasps across the sky to claim the fading blue of the afternoon. The wind carried the dry heat of summer on its back, tearing through the palace to seize any cool relief that still remained within the grounds. Most spent their day indoors, enjoying the shadows and respite from the climbing temperatures, steadily becoming unbearable in the peak of summer.

Sweat poured from Lance's forehead, his back, beneath his arms. His hair clung cloyingly to his neck, beaded moisture running down his skin, into his eyes. He rubbed at them, trying to clear them to better pay attention to what he was doing. His breathing was laboured, and his throat grew dry and scratchy as he pushed his body on.

Shiro hadn't been kidding. As far as Lance could tell, the captain hadn't alerted anyone, let alone the king, of Lance's personal evening excursions. Still, Shiro clearly wasn't impressed, and was making sure Lance would remember this punishment if he were to consider another adventure in the middle of the night.

The captain stood in the centre of the quad, diligently watching over his guard as they trained, expertly masking a smirk when looking in Lance's direction. Lance huffed, glaring, as he completed another press up. All afternoon, for _hours_ , Shiro had barked an exercise and the group had leapt to action until they were told to do otherwise. Shiro would leave them five, ten, fifteen minutes, repeating the same exhausting actions over and over until he was satisfied. Then he would demand more from them.

"Plank!" Shiro ordered, his voice echoing back to them off of the surrounding buildings. Lance's arms shook, threatening collapse, but he dared not give into them lest Shiro zero in on him with his merciless gaze. He wanted to fly beneath the radar as much as he possibly could. Lance could feel each and every muscle screaming at him for respite as he settled his body into a plank, his core quivering as he tried to remain stable. He focused on the ground below him, concentrating his mind on counting the blades of grass in his line of site. Anything to distract himself from the physical torture he was putting his body through.

He was shaking violently now. His breath burst from his lungs fast and rough, dragging at his parched throat, lungs too tired to breakdown into the hacking coughs he felt building in his chest. He didn't care, didn't care how Shiro would shout at him to get up, or how everyone would stare at him: he was going to fall, he was going to give up. His vision swam and he held on a handful of seconds more, trying to preserve his dignity, as his breaths turned to dying gasps and he felt his back bending towards the ground. He was going to fall, he was going to-

"Okay," Shiro's commanding voice rang out, "That's enough for today."

Lance heard pleased grumbles around him from the members of the guard, all standing quickly and stretching out their aching muscles. They pulled at the sweat drenched tops that clung to their backs and chests, trying to fan their red faces and running hands though sodden hair. Many quickly wandered off, searching for water and a pleasant spot to collapse in.

Lance wished he could join them.

Instead, he remained on the grass. Unable to move, his entire body reduced to nothing more than throbbing aches, muscles sporadically breaking out in spasms. The grass was cool on his cheek, blades touching against his lips as he lay there gasping for breath. Most of his training company had left now, leaving him by himself in an undignified sprawl on the ground. He didn't have the energy to care.

A toe nudged at his side, and Lance groaned.

"Come on," Shiro ordered, "You're not done."

Lance swivelled an eye at the evil, evil man. "Trust me – I'm done."

"Get up soldier."

Lance groaned again. He wasn't a soldier, granted, but he had learned long ago that he was below Shiro's line of command during training and resisting orders was not worth the trouble. With a sigh, he stood shakily to his feet, unsure if he was going to be able to remain upright for long. His legs were already quivering from the strain of holding his body up.

"You look like shit," Shiro said, finally letting his smirk bloom.

Lance was too bone-tired to disagree. "Yeah, no kidding." The words came out hoarse from his cracking throat, the friction of his vocal cords rubbing together feeling like fire.

"You got a bit more left in you?"

"Sir, yes sir," Lance grumbled, wishing he could say anything but.

Shiro threw a heavy arm around his shoulders, the added weight threatening to fell Lance once and for all. "Come on sharpshooter, I'll be nice to you."

At the mention of his self-appointed nickname, Lance relaxed slightly. Shiro led him across the courtyard towards the weaponry, their destination promising something more enjoyable than sweating in the sun. Shiro handed him two pistols absentmindedly, Lance reaching out to take them on instinct. Training was generally pretty gruelling and soul destroying, but if Lance had to pick his favourite exercise it would be shooting. Mainly because of the lack of cardio involved, and the fact that he was pretty good at it.

Shiro lifted a heavy looking rifle and both headed out the back of the weaponry, to a small enclosed quad with thick wooden targets lined up along the far wall. Even from this distance, Lance could see the bullet holes that peppered the wood, or the stone wall beyond that bore the brunt of the shots that had missed. Some targets were embellished with deep set arrows, buried too deeply to be removed and instead left to stand as a testament to the strength of the archer who had fired them.

Lance liked archery: he mostly liked things that involved having a good sense of aim. He had found he had a good eye for it, and once he had gotten to grips with whatever weapon was in his hand he found he could adapt to it easily enough. But he just didn't have the strength to fire an arrow with such power to embed the tip so deeply into the wood.

Shiro liked hand to hand combat, and breaking out the traditional swords they kept in the back of the weaponry. Times had been trying to move past such techniques but Shiro clung to them fiercely, assuring that they would always be of importance. These methods didn't sit so well with Lance: he was tall and lean, lithe, and struggled to turn the tables on an opponent whose strength outclassed his own. Shiro was taller than him, more built, better versed in such styles of fighting. Whenever they sparred Lance spend the whole experience feeling dejected, waiting for his inevitable failure. Sword fighting was a little better; it at least allowed Lance a little more breathing room in the heat of mock battle, giving him a second to process his opponent's intention before they struck. But even then the techniques were a rock and a hard place, and he loathed the days Shiro demanded they practise.

Give him a pistol any day. Or a revolver. Or a rifle. He wasn't exactly picky.

If it could take down a threat from a safe distance from himself, he was happy to use it. Not that he got much practise at such things, but the thought comforted him.

He emptied a magazine of one of the pistols into the target directly ahead of him, eight black shots clustered closely together just off of the bullseye. The blast of each shot was deafening, ringing in his ears for long minutes after, but he didn't care. It was like a muffler, dampening out the outside world and reducing it to his target. His shoulders strained at maintaining the gun at eye level, but of all the hardships of the day this certainly wasn't the worst. At least Shiro hadn't insisted on an evening archery class: he doubted he would have had the strength to draw the bow, let alone pull off a half decent shot.

Shiro cleared his throat purposefully, and Lance rolled his eyes, already knowing that the man was staring disapprovingly at his stance. Over the years Lance had grown lax and, dare he say, cocky with his technique. Shiro was his only defence against the swarm of bad habits that threatened to develop as he grew more comfortable with the exercises. He cast aside the first empty pistol, changing to a target several metres to his right and firing off the round.

Shot one: in his mind's eye, he saw his father giving him an approving nod, finally content with his son's progress. Shot two: Allura looked on, face content, no more schemes or plans for his improvement. Shot three: she turned and walked away, trusting him to work out what he wanted for himself. Shot four: Hunk grinned and high fived him, dragging him into a bone-crushing hug. Five: the Galra before him was stopped mid snarl as the bullet pierced his heart. Six: a taller, scarier Galra loomed before him, violet and yellow eyes glaring at him, but an expert shot felled the giant in one hit. Seven: Haggar's fingers danced towards him, dark oily magic swirling about her finger tips, ready to strike. Her blank gaze burned into him and he panicked, the bullet firing wide, missing his imaginary target. She grinned, casting her hands forwards, willing her cloying magic towards him. But Lance was faster. Eight: he made sure the bullet struck her right between the eyes, holding her gaze as she fell to the ground, ensuring that she _knew_ , that Altea _knew,_ that the dumb eldest prince had saved them from her threat.

He pulled the trigger again, hearing the dull 'click' of the empty barrel. He knew he was out of shots but all he could picture was Haggar on the ground before him, not trusting that one bullet could kill her, even in his imagination. He let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding as he had fired off the round, blinking to dispel the image his brain had conjured.

Shiro grunted approvingly, seeing the group of shots land with precision into the wood. He politely ignored the one shot that went wide, knowing full well that Lance's internal personal criticism would be harsher than anything he could hope to say. He reached out for the now empty pistols to reload, handing Lance the larger, heavier rifle.

Lance knew this wasn't really training: he figured that Shiro had worked out somewhere along the way that target practise helped Lance work through his thoughts and process whatever was going on. The methodical action calmed him, turned his brain to autopilot and let him churn over any recent dramas. After the last 24 hours, he was glad, and Shiro was content to stand back and let him work through it, happy to reload after Lance discharged every round.

The rifle had a lot more power than the pistols. It was also heavier, and his arms strained as he rested the butt of the gun against his shoulder. It had been a long time since he had been left with bruises from the rifle's recoil, but he knew his already aching muscles were going to struggle with the aftershock today. It didn't matter though: he methodically fired off each of the five rounds into separate targets, taking a breath between each pull of the trigger. His aim grew worst towards the end of the round, his shots listing further from the centre as his arms shook under the gun's weight. After shot five he lowered it quickly, rolling out his shoulders to try and shift the stiffness starting to settle there.

Shiro raised an eyebrow mockingly, "Tired, my lord?"

Lance merely grunted at him, holding an expecting hand out for the lighter pistol. He hid the tremble in his arm as he passed the rifle back, glad to be rid of it's weight. He would need to take his shots slower, give his muscles more time to recover before attempting the heavy weapon again.

He took a deep breath, steadying his aim as he adjusted to the smaller weapon, eyeing up the target in his line of site.

He fired his first shot, and in the blast's echoing recoil he thought he heard something. Like a…

His hearing cleared, and what he was trying to pin down in his brain was gone.

He turned his chin one way then another, allowing the tense vertebrae to crack. These sleepless nights were getting to him. Hearing imaginary things, letting his imagination shake him.

Shiro was looking at him expectedly, and he quickly fired another shot, this one flying slightly askew of the first. But there, in the fading gunshot, it was there again…

He swallowed uneasily, and fired again.

This shot was even further off from the first two, the three points forming a mismatched triangle. But he heard it, definitely heard it, twisted and venomous.

He could hear laughter. Fading laughter. Throaty and sharp and menacing. The sound licking at his ears, barely audible, but persistent.

Two more shots. Quickly. The laughter grew, close enough that Lance could imagine hot breath touching his ear.

Another shot.

And the laughter stopped.

In the aftermath of the gunshot, his ears rang with the sudden silence of the voice, searching desperately for a trace of it, some proof that it had existed at all.

He was losing his mind.

The stress. It was the stress. He let out a shaky breath, preparing for another shot. There was no laughter this time either, and he relaxed. Whatever had come over him had passed. He hoped Shiro wouldn't mind if he asked to end their session earlier than expected, but Lance supposed it was a bad idea to continue messing around with a weapon while hearing imaginary voices.

He was about to take a step back and prepare to leave, excuse himself to his rooms, when his body locked up.

He could hear the laugher, long after the echo of the gunshot had died out.

Shiro was staring at him, his mouth moving wordlessly. Whatever the man was saying was swept up in the waves of the cackle in his ears, drowning out anything and everything else.

The cackle shifted, the tone still rasping as he heard, "Do you want to shoot me, little prince?"

His eyes had remained transfixed on his target as he listened to the voice, and before his eyes Haggar appeared again, this time grinning and holding her gnarled hands clasped at her front. Her hood was pushed back to reveal her mutilated royal marks in all their glory, still trailing their tracks of blood across her cheeks and down her chin. She grinned, maniacal fire burning in those blank eyes, and her lips parted to bear teeth.

"You're welcome to try."

A heavy hand landed on Lance's shoulder and he felt shock reverberate through his body. He panicked, the witch staring him down, and he took a step forward, firing with determination. One, two shots cracked from the gun barrel, both zipping past inches from the witches grinning face and landing squarely in the stone wall behind her.

Lance pulled the trigger again, and again. She was laughing again, laughing at _him,_ taunting the useless prince as he pulled the trigger of his useless gun over and over and over. The hollow clicking mocking him. Firing nothing, nothing to help him, protect him. Protect _them_.

Eyes wide, he turned on Shiro. The older man had a hand clasped tightly on Lance's shoulder, unsure what was happening with the prince. Lance barely acknowledged him with a glance, searching out the other hand, reaching and snatching the reloaded pistol from his unsuspecting hand. Shiro's mouth opened in a shout, but Lance had already turned and, unable to look at Haggar anymore, emptied the round in two heartbeats, his breath fast and forceful. His arm shook terribly as the trigger clicked back. Eight times. He didn't pull uselessly at the empty barrel this time – didn't wish for more chances. He knew it was likely he hadn't hit her, but he was too terrified to care.

And then he blinked. And the world rushed in.

Shouting reached his ears. He blinked slowly, looking for where the witch had gone. He was shoved as something barrelled into his shoulder. He stumbled forwards a step, staring down at the empty pistol clenched in his grasp with white knuckles. Useless. Useless.

His mind felt fogged over, stalling as he desperately grasped for something to make sense of. A shrill ringing was reverberating in his head, and the pistol dropped from his fingers as he brought his palms to cover his ears, searching for some kind of peace.

But the shouting, the screaming, it made its way to him, worming into his head and demanding, demanding his focus. The world was darkness and noise as he realised his eyes were clenched shut, chin hiding down in his chest.

He had to open his eyes.

Open.

 _Open your eyes!_

His head snapped up as the light of the evening rushed in, and he blinked away the shadows. And tried to take in what was happening in front of him.

Shiro was kneeling on the ground, in front of the targets. He was the one shouting, calling to running bodies at the edge of the courtyard. Servants appeared briefly, pale faced as he barked orders at them, before disappearing into the main body of the castle.

"Lance!" The word somehow made it through to him, and Shiro was staring at him earnestly. "Lance, I need your help."

A lump was stuck in his throat. Shiro needed his help and still, _still,_ he was useless.

"Lance!" He barked. "Get over here now!"

And that's when Lance truly registered what was going on.

In Shiro's arms, screaming, and screaming, was Allura. Her white hair was dishevelled, clinging to her face. Her blue eyes were screwed shut, and mouth open in that cry. What? What…?

"Lance!" Shiro called, trying desperately to get through.

Shiro's hand was red with blood, where it pressed against the wound.

Lance had to back up a little.

Shiro's hand was red with blood. Where it pressed against the wound in Allura's thigh. Where the bullet had pierced into the muscle. The bullet. From his gun. That he had dropped to the ground.

"W-What…?" He said weakly and pathetically.

Behind the two of them, Lance's eye was drawn to the target behind them. And a bullet hole directly in the centre of the bullseye.

"It wasn't your fault," The soothing voice assured.

The soothing voice was nice. And familiar. And a liar.

Lance grumbled into the pillow he had buried his face in, unable to face the outside world.

"I mean," Hunk continued, determined to cheer his friend up, "What was she doing, walking out in front of targets during practise?"

Lance mumbled his disagreement.

A toe nudged his side, poking at his ribs. "I can't hear you."

Lance sighed, turning his face towards Hunk. The other boy lounged at the end of the four poster bed, leaning his back against the bed post. "I said," Lance started, "That I'm an idiot."

"Well, usually I would agree, but-"

Lance punched at the pillow below him, in a thoroughly foul mood after the evening's outcome. The moon had long since risen. Hunk had helped him get ready for sleep, and had refused to leave the prince alone. He clearly saw something worrisome in Lance's face and nothing Lance did could remove him from the room. "No Hunk. She was right in front of me. I should have seen her, I should have stopped, I-" His voice cut off in his throat and he buried his head back into the pillow, wishing to hide himself amongst the downy softness.

It played over in his mind. Again and again, coming back to his mind's eye, the memory thick and viscous, working it's way through his head to taint every thought that passed through. Allura, screaming on the ground, blood running from the wound in her thigh. When Lance could finally move, his mouth was trailing a string of apologises, pressing his hand over Shiro's to increase pressure to the bullet hole. Her face was creased in pain, sweat beading her forehead, as she tried to compose herself.

The physician finally arrived, shooing the captain and him back and out of the way. His eyes were glued to Allura as she was transferred to a stretcher and rushed from the target yard.

"S-Shiro…" He had started, unsure of what to say. How was he supposed to even start making this right? _Sorry, I had a mental breakdown and shot my sister, the crown princess, in the leg._ Great. Fantastic. Just give him another gun so he could plant a shot between his eyes. Apparently that would be the only good he could do.

"These things happen," Shiro said tersely, his jaw tight. "She's going to be fine."

"No, Shiro, I-" Lance didn't know what he was going to say. That he had seen Haggar standing there, taunting him, not his sister. That it had looked like she was right there, that he could hear her voice clear as day. That the mere thought of her had driven him to such excessive lengths of terror. That he had been afraid that he was useless, and then somehow managed to sink even lower. That his very existence was to the detriment to his family's health.

"Lance," Shiro pressed. "She is going to be fine. It was an accident."

"But what if-"

"She. Is going. To be fine." He said slowly, gently placing a hand on Lance's shoulder. "I've seen enough wounds in my time. You- _it_ didn't hit anything major. Almost through and through, the physician mainly needs to remove the bullet."

Tears pricked at Lance's eyes, casting them to the ground to avoid Shiro's eyes. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot! He hugged his arms to himself, squeezing the flesh below his fingers viciously tight. Anything to ground him to this place and time and stop him floating away, afraid of more delusions. Shiro lightly squeezed his shoulder, "In fact, you couldn't have accidently shot someone any better." He said, trying to inject some humour to lighten Lance's spirit. "She's going to be fine."

That was it, the last straw. Lance began to cry.

To his credit, he managed to contain his sobs. But, staring down, he couldn't help the fat tears that overwhelmed his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He watched them fall from his chin, catching on his shirt or landing far below on the ground. His chest shook and he felt frozen in place, guilt twisting and churning and shredding within him.

Shiro seemed taken aback, stuttering for a moment as he tried to work out what to do. He was lucky: as he stood flustered beside the crying prince, Hunk had appeared, out of breath as though he had ran there. He marched straight up to Lance and, without a word, threw an arm around his shoulders and walked him back to his room. Shiro looked relieved and let the two go, left standing looking mildly lost before leaving in the direction of the infirmary, worry firmly set in his brow.

Hunk had drawn Lance a bath, scalding hot so he emerged with pink skin, soaking himself long enough to leave with fingers wrinkled like prunes. Hunk had doted on him, bringing the distraught prince a large cup of nunvil tea and fixing Lance with a stern glare until the cup was empty. The steam and heat cleared his head somewhat, but once dressing he had promptly plopped onto his bed as he was assaulted with the memory over and over again.

"Lance-"

" _Hunk,"_ He said, voice leaden with frustration. "I shot my own sister. While she was standing clearly in front of me. Surely you know that there's nothing you can say or do right now to change that fact, or make it any better." He let the pillow engulf his face again, consigning himself to its plush darkness.

Lance felt Hunk shift uncomfortably, desperate to help his friend but at a loss of how to do that. A hand brushed against his back, "I'll get us something to eat."

Lance grumbled, loud enough for Hunk to get the message that he wasn't hungry.

"I'm going to get us something to eat. And another cup of tea." Hunk said to him firmly, before getting up and leaving the room.

Lance stayed within his hiding place, wishing for the world to collapse around him. He was a screw up, doomed to his destiny of disaster. Even if Allura was fine, he still could have killed her. She was lucky: firing wildly like that, Lance could have…could have…

Idiot. Idiot.

He clung to the pillow, wrapping his arms tight around it and firmly pressing it to his face. He struggled to breathe, and didn't care. Stupid, stupid. He left a wake of destruction wherever he went, turning the atmosphere sour with each breath he took.

He heard the door to his room open as Hunk returned. The latch clicked shut quietly, and his friend came no further into the room. Probably trying to draw Lance out of his feathery prison.

Lance sighed, raising his head slightly so he could clearly say, "I'm not hungry, Hunk."

"Get off of the bed, Leonid," A disapproving voice ordered.

The mention of his formal name sent a tingle up Lance's spine. When born, royals were given their formal name for the public's knowledge, but were given an everyday name by their parents to be used amongst the family in a bid to help separate the pressures of royal life.

Lance hadn't spent much – if any – time beyond the castle gates, and rarely heard himself referred to as 'Leonid'. It was a name reserved for when he had caused trouble, and was in need of a scolding.

He shot off the bed and stood with a tense back, taking in his father's furious gaze.

He felt his throat close up in panic.

Alfor's eyes looked Lance up and down once, zeroing in on the tear stricken cheeks and the swollen red eyes. His mouth settled into a firm line, and Lance's stomach somersaulted. The pressure beneath his father's gaze was too strong. He felt like he was about to have a stroke any second now – could he smell burning toast?

"I don't ask much, Leonid," Alfor said smoothly, arms crossed across his broad chest. The ceremonial sword still hung from his belt, swinging with the king as he shifted his stance. "Merely to attend the odd court session, or to greet foreign nobles politely, or to grace a ball briefly with your presence. Out with this, you can do as you please." Alfor's words were slow, methodical, each syllable thinly veiled with rage. "All I ask of you, is to _not embarrass this family."_

His words were withering, causing Lance's defences to crumble as he continued to speak. "Your sister is set to begin taking responsibilities very soon. I don't know if this was jealously, or-"

Jealousy? "No, I-" Lance tried to explain, but Alfor steamrolled him, making him feel incredibly small and worthless before the king.

"Or if you're really that stupid, but either way it is unacceptable." Alfor's glare was burning ice, burrowing deeper and deeper into Lance. His arguments, his excuses, died on his tongue in that gaze, unable to do more than open and close his mouth like a beached fish, desperate to keep breathing.

The withering look stretched on and on, the tension between the two too much to manage. Lance felt light headed, his lungs screaming for air but his chest muscles were firmly locked.

"You are no longer permitted to use firearms," Alfor decreed, looking as though he wished to say more. "You will train as Shiro sees fit with hand to hand combat and _wooden_ swords, but anything over and above that is out of the question."

This time when Lance's jaw opened it stayed open. The weight in his chest was constricting, unable to wrap his head around this consequence. He knew, Shiro knew, it was one of the few things that brought him piece. With all this craziness with Haggar, he needed the chance to process his thoughts.

With Haggar's threat looming over them, he needed to keep preoccupied. To feel like he was preparing for what was to come.

But he couldn't argue. Because Lance knew he deserved this: knew he deserved a lot more. He shouldn't be allowed near a pistol again in his life. He was irresponsible. He couldn't be trusted. And, like his father had said, he was an embarrassment.

Satisfied that the message had gotten through, Alfor turned to leave, nearly barrelling into Hunk as he burst though the door bearing a tray laden with half the kitchen pantry, spilling droplets of tea from a very full mug to fall to the floor with a soft pitter-patter. Hunk's eyes widened with fear at the sight of the king, shrinking back into a bow and uttering apology after apology for his clumsiness. The king barely spared the servant a glance and swept from the room, boots clicking loudly against the tiled hallway beyond.

Hunk looked shaken, looking to Lance for a clue as to what had happened. The prince sighed, rubbing at his face, and let his body collapse back onto the bed.

"S-so…" Hunk stuttered, standing sheepishly by the door. He shifted the tray, cutlery and plates chinking loudly in the tense room. "That looks like that went well."

Lance groaned.

Hunk made his way over to the bed, setting the tray by Lance's side. Various scents wafted over to him, enticing but ultimately unappetising. He couldn't even consider food in his current state - his stomach was in too many knots.

Hunk could see his friend's lack of appetite, and shifted the tray a little closer. "I've got fresh bread," he said in as tempting a way as possible, "And apples, from the courtyard."

Lance covered his face with his hands. He just wanted the world to swallow him up and delete his very existence. His heart felt like it was stuttering in his chest under the stress that was flexing there. He just wanted to rip the cavity open and relieve some goddamned _pressure_.

"Or some roast beef, left over from last night…" Hunk's voice trailed on, trying to break through.

His stomach turned: Lance was certain he would never eat again. He would lay on this bed and waste away to nothing and still it wouldn't be enough to make up for all the trouble he continually caused.

"I also have chocolate mousse."

Lance's hands came away from his face without conscious choice, eyes shooting to Hunk's. The other boy was smug, knowing exactly what strings of Lance's to pull.

Why did all these people know him so well?

"That could work," The prince said, admitting defeat.

Hunk grinned, content to have made some kind of progress as he revealed a large bowl full of light, aerated heaven. The bittersweet scent of cocoa reached Lance's nostrils and he bolted upright, trying to snatch the bowl from Hunk. The other boy pulled back quickly, squaring Lance in his gaze. "Two conditions."

Impatient, Lance nodded. He grabbed a spoon from the tray, a stalking predator ready to pounce.

Hunk held up a finger, "Number one: you have to share."

Lance rolled his eyes, passing the boy a spoon, their own personal olive branch. He couldn't blame Hunk for his distrust: Lance tended to get tunnel vision when presented with sweets. Best to iron out these details before he descended onto the treat.

"And two," Hunk continued, looking nervous for a second, "If the head chef asks if anyone has seen tonight's dessert, you don't know anything."

An unexpected laugh escaped Lance's chest, and he swore himself to secrecy. Satisfied, Hunk set the bowl between the two of them, and they ate like starving men lost in the wilderness.

The tunnel vision descended, and Lance's focus was wholly consumed by the bowl in front of him.

For the first few days, Allura was confined to the infirmary. Shiro said that, as he had promised, she was perfectly fine and simply needed time to heal. The bullet had taken some work to remove, and the physicians were concerned about infection.

Lance didn't visit her. His stomach wrenched and churned at the prospect of seeing her lying in the hospital bed, put there by him. Words of apology died on his tongue as he tried to imagine what he might say to her, to try and make this right.

Then she was allowed out briefly for mealtimes and to see the family, but only if she was in a wheelchair. As much as she protested to being allowed to hobble to the dining room and back, she was forbade from placing any kind of strain on the leg. She would be wheeled in with an irritated look on her face, not even permitted to wheel the chair there herself.

Dinner was always a relatively serious affair with little small talk taking place. Father usually would politely question his children on their recent activities, but these past few days dinner had been tense with silence. The king would merely question Allura on the state of her health before turning to the meal before him. Usually hushed whispers would break out between the siblings as the meal carried on, but all remained quiet for it's duration. Which suited Lance just fine: he had been doing his best to avoid the prying eyes of the younger siblings, who had been told that Allura had had an accident, and had worked out that somehow it involved Lance. But they were not privy to knowledge beyond this, and their eyes burned with curiosity.

Pidge stared at him from across the table – he could feel her gaze burning a hole in his forehead as he focussed wholly on the plate in front of him. Food remained unappetising, and only Hunk could coax him to eat a solid meal through bribery of his favourite foods. Here, surrounded by his family in the uncomfortable room, he could only manage a couple of small bites of what was placed in front of him before the nausea became too strong. Or the sound of chewing in his ears became too loud. From that point it was just a show of eating, moving food from one side of the plate to another, before ultimately giving up and placing his cutlery down with a quiet chime of metal on china. He would call for a second, a third cup of nunvil, drowning his thoughts and tensions in the steaming brew. The tea was disgusting, but they had been forced to drink it since childhood for its nutrients, and at this point its disgusting flavour was both a comfort and an acceptable punishment for his idiocy.

When these tense scenarios finally came to an end, he could sense Allura trying to get his attention. To talk, or to get an apology, he wasn't sure. But he knew he didn't want to find out, and would quickly excuse himself as soon as possible and escape the room. He was glad that she had been confined to the infirmary: there was less chance of running into her as he slunk around the castle's shadows.

He had been avoiding his room, returning late in the day and, after a night of light and fitful sleep, getting up early to venture out to deserted sections of the castle. He didn't want anyone being able to find him if they came looking. He was determined to keep himself out of the way.

The only person he was comfortable being around was Hunk. The boy had been Lance's friend since they were very young: Hunk's mother worked in the kitchen and, when his father had to work, would bring the young boy into the castle to keep an eye on him. Lance used to sneak into the kitchen to seek out sweet treats, and from here their friendship had blossomed as they sought to steal treats when the head chef wasn't looking. His fondest memories of their friendship were moments where they were scolded after eating their collective weights in cake prepared specially for some dignified dinner.

When Lance grew old enough to need a personal servant to aid him in any and every aspect of presenting himself as a noble prince, he had pushed for Hunk to get the position. The other boy had been a good influence on him, Alfor had been assured, not to mention his best friend getting paid to spend time with him seemed like a win-win in Lance's eyes.

The two would return to the hatch in the guest wing, slithering up into the attic. Lance dared not venture out onto the rooftop in daylight, especially with Shiro's warning, and instead the two would crack the hatch open to allow enough daylight in to brighten the room. Here they talked, or played games, brought a deck of cards with them, or ventured into the storage cases left to collect dust up here, well out of the way of the royals. Lance uncovered items owned by past members of his family, many of whom he didn't recognise the names of. Diaries of young adults similar to the age he was now, old items of clothing, worn stuffed bears and painted portraits of unsmiling royals.

Lance pawed through this collection of forgotten trinkets, and was struck with the thought that one day this was what would happen with the life he would live. He wasn't a royal of note, so it would be packed up in a few cases and put away, out of sight and out of mind.

This morning, the two boys had strewn their bodies across the dusty ground, basking in the strip of sunlight that came though the hatch.

"Have you realised what tonight is?" Lance asked his friend, unsure if he had drifted off to sleep in the warm light. The attic could grow stuffy as the day warmed, but Lance felt safe and out of the way up here, returning despite the discomfort.

He heard Hunk shift, awake, but say nothing. Lance turned his head to look at his friend, trying to gage his uneasy expression.

"Hunk?" He questioned, not understanding his reaction.

"Erm…" Hunk stumbled, fiddling his fingers in a bid to distract himself. "It's…"

Lance, intrigued, lifted an eyebrow, letting his gaze bore into Hunk.

The other boy sighed, defences against whatever he wanted to say defeated. "It's the seventh day since Haggar threatened your family."

Lance felt his body tense up in shock, the threat having been contained and forgotten in a dark recess of his mind in the recent days. Hunk was right – how had he not noticed today creeping up on him? Too wrapped up in his own world.

"Oh…" He shifted, his back growing stiff against the hard floor. "Y-yeah, I suppose you're right."

Hunk looked at him with a puzzled expression, surprised that he hadn't provided the answer Lance had been expecting. "What else is today?" He asked, trying to dislodge another piece of information of what other ground-breaking events the day could hold.

Lance felt sheepish, avoiding Hunk's eyes as he said, "There's a solar storm tonight…"

Stupid. There were more important things to worry about. And here he was, wasting time lying on the floor thinking about dancing lights in the sky.

"Oh." was all Hunk said.

"It's stupid," Lance said quickly, scared of how Hunk was judging the prince's priorities. "I just got distracted…of course it doesn't matter-"

"No." Hunk cut in, voice reassuring, "I think we should sneak out and see them again. If we've ever needed a distraction, it's now."

"It's stupid," Lance promised. Hunk would do anything to try and raise Lance out of his current rut, the prince knew this, and he shouldn't take advantage of his friend's good nature. "Please, forget I said anything."

Hunk sat up, squaring Lance in his gaze as he looked down at him. "I think we should go," He said more firmly. "It's going to be a stressful day to wait out, why not have something to look forward to?"

"If I'm still alive by then," Lance grumbled, looking down at his hands as his fingers knotted themselves together.

"Do you think anything is going to happen? Maybe it's just an empty threat?" Hunk's voice was smooth and comforting: like velvet wrapping around Lance and managing to ground his wandering mind. "She makes some great proclamation, then disappears into thin air. There's been no trace of her from your father's searches: I think she was just full of hot air."

"Maybe," Lance admitted, pessimism burning brightly within his core. "But even so, maybe today isn't the best day for such adventures."

But Hunk wouldn't be letting it go, Lance could see it in the glint of his friend's eye. Hunk had seen how the lights affected Lance, how peaceful and content he was when they danced above him. He had seen how unravelled the prince had been in the past seven days. And Hunk would be lying if he said he wasn't desperate to see them again. So he said, with a voice filled with surety, "If there was ever a time to go see them, it would be today."

Lance huffed loudly, unable to disagree. Now it had been brought back to his attention, he knew that he wouldn't be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the day. He didn't know if Haggar's threat was genuine or not – the guard had been steadily increased over the last week, and Hunk was right when he said they hadn't heard anything about the witch's antics. It truly seemed like she had just disappeared. If Lance didn't have the shallow cut on his cheek, he would be inclined to believe he had imagined Haggar's court appearance.

"You know," Lance said, quietly admitting defeat, "you can be really persuasive, when you want to be."

"Thanks," Hunk grinned. "I learned from the best."

Lance barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "You're supposed to be the good influence. I'm not supposed to be able to corrupt you."

Hunk shrugged, laying back down in the patch of afternoon sunlight, "It's a two way street. You take some of the good, I take some of the bad." His tone was light, joking, and Lance found his lips turning up in a small smile.

He let his eyes flutter shut, mind buzzing around the scenarios of what his life would have been like without Hunk watching his back, always standing in Lance's corner. The boy knew each and every facet of Lance's personality, regardless of how much the prince would try and hide his less appealing qualities. He was right: Hunk helped to even him out.

He didn't remember making a conscious decision to have a nap, lying in the light of the early afternoon. But as his skin drank in the warmth of the long summer day he blissfully found his mind growing blank and worriless. A good opportunity to get some rest, in preparation of the evening ahead.

"Lance!"

His stomach dropped to the floor, nunvil churning dangerously, the fear of getting caught pairing with the dread of hearing that voice calling his name.

"Lance! Lance, wait." She called after him, her voice grotesquely loud in the deserted hallway. He and Hunk cast each other a fearful glance: having successfully gotten halfway to the hatch without being caught, they had grown cocky.

 _What do we do,_ Hunk mouthed silently.

Lance looked round anxiously, waiting for her to appear at any given moment. She had obviously spotted him, there was no denying it. And if he didn't materialise soon, she would yell until the rest of the castle were drawn from their rooms and someone was sent to retrieve him.

 _Go,_ Lance mouthed back, waving his hands at his friend.

Hunk shook his head. He made a complicated series of hand gestures in a bid to communicate more clearly to Lance, but the prince was lost. Hunk rolled his eyes, angrily whispering, "I'll wait with you! It'll look less suspicious if your servant is escorting you!"

Lance made sure the vigorous shaking of his head outclassed Hunk's. "No way man." His voice was filled with urgency, the two stupidly frozen in the middle of the hall as they heard footsteps hobbling ever closer. "There's no reason for us both to be out and about this late. I know how to handle her: you carry on, I'll catch up."

Hunk looked ready to argue, but the next should of Lance's name came from just beyond the last corner they had turned, and the servant's courage finally diminished. He took a hasty step back, still unsure about leaving.

"I'll be right there," Lance hissed, trying desperately to wave his friend on.

Displeased, Hunk did as Lance asked and slunk around the next corner and out of sight, moving exceptionally quietly.

Lance managed a short sigh of relief before Allura came bursting around the corner with a crazed look in her eye, hair in a disarray and breath heavily bursting from her chest. Her leg dragged uneasily under her weight, sole catching on the plush carpet as she struggled to lift it any higher, forced to walk with a precarious limp.

She had shuffled into dinner in the same manner that evening, her patience having finally worn out as she had refused to settle into the wheelchair. Before the physician could say another word, she had stood up and started the painful journey out of the infirmary and down the hall, threatening any personnel who came close enough to stop her, calmly informing them that if they tried to block her path then they would be swiftly removed from the castle grounds and be out of a job.

Apparently, no one had gone near her after that.

Alfor had said nothing as his eldest daughter came hobbling into the room, heavily planting herself in a chair and trying to smooth the lines creased with pain in her forehead. The king had briefly looked at her as though to question what had taken her so long, before beginning the meal steaming in front of him. The rest of the table followed suit, metal scrapping as the roast beef had cutlery descend on it.

The beef was dry, the vegetables rubbery and bland. Strangely, it made Lance feel better: there was no way the dry, tasteless meat in front of him could possibly be his last meal. If Haggar was truly to descend and wreak havoc as she had so promised, his last meal would have to have been something more impressive and exquisite. Something his guilty stomach could tolerate. It would be something worth waiting his entire life to experience.

The air around the dining table of family members felt tenser than usual, not a word being uttered the entire meal, as though the tough meat had sealed everyone's mouth shut. That's how Lance imagined it anyway, instead of thinking it was because they were worried this was the last time they would all eat together, if what Haggar had said was true.

But there had been no incidents to report the entire day. No mysterious witches or murderous assassins trying to sneak their way into the palace. The guards hadn't even seen so much as one bewildered Altean staring up at the palace with wide eyes, nor had to shoo off groups of indifferent children who's games had brought them a little too close to the gates. The area had been almost eerily quiet, as though the citizens were giving the palace a wide berth.

"Lance," Allura huffed impatiently, struggling to catch her breath. She rounded the corner in a long, white nightgown, leaning wearily against the wall, needing a moment to try and compose herself before she could speak.

He struggled to breathe too. After spending© so much time and energy assuring he couldn't be left along with his sister, that exact situation had managed to snuck up on him. On an injured leg with a bullet wound. He shifted from foot to foot, just wanting to take after Hunk and venture up to their hiding place. But he had to placate Allura, otherwise there wasn't a chance he would make it to the lights.

If he could just make it to the lights, he would be okay.

He imagined they would be like a reset button, taking everything back to the last time he had seen them, before the curse and the shooting and the guilt and the hiding. Maybe the lasts seven days had been a delusion that was playing out in his mind, and he was still on the roof from that first night, the lights continuing their performance overhead.

And he wouldn't let himself consider how naïve that sounded.

"We need to talk," Allura said, voice finally steady enough to hold a sentence. Her gaze was determined, and he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid what was coming.

Lance swallowed uncomfortably, eyes flitting about as though searching out an escape route. Anything to avoid her piercing scrutiny.

Her mouth opened, and the last thing he expected to say came bursting past her lips.

"Veronica, Alexei and I are having a sleepover." She paused. "If you want to join."

Lance's mouth opened on impulse, having been prepared to let the word vomit of apologies finally spill out in front of her. But instead silence met his ears as his words froze in his throat.

She had chased him how far, just to invite him to a sleepover?

In the silence, she continued. "It's just, I didn't want them to be alone tonight. Pidge didn't want to come, but I thought you might…" She trailed off, eyeing him carefully as his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

A stupid fish who still couldn't think of anything to say.

She raised an eyebrow, casting a look around them and realising that they were nowhere near the sleeping quarters. "Hey, what are you doing-"

"Don't you hate me?" He heard himself blurt, partially glad to finally manage to get his tongue to trace out words, and partially trying to keep her from trying to work out what he was up to.

A series of emotions flashed across her face, too fast for Lance to catch, as she pondered his question.

Her tone was completely and utterly confused as she asked, "Why?"

Baffled.

That was the only word to describe the feeling in his chest now. It eclipsed the guilt as he tried to understand how and why she was being so dense with him.

He must have waited too long to answer again, because she continued her original topic of conversation. "Veronica and Alexei are scared, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried. I just…" Her brow furrowed, and her eyes bore into his. Their eyes had always matched in colour, but where Lance's reminded him of the churning sea on a clear day, Allura's brought to mind the endless blue of the sky, stretching far into the distance, far beyond his own line of site. The same, yet different. Connected, but separate. "I think we should stick together. Just in case."

Oh.

Oh. She didn't understand. Still, after all this, she couldn't see how disaster clung to Lance, shed from him to infect others like a virus. The last time they had seen each other, he had shot her. The time before that, they had erupted into an argument because Lance was so useless at being the person he was supposed to be. At the very least she should understand what a disaster he was by now.

He knew, _he knew,_ that tonight he couldn't let any of them near him. It was lucky Hunk had done such a good job of convincing him to go up on the roof or else Lance would have cut him off too.

All he would do was hurt his family. He could see how delicately she handled her leg, how she had to place most of her weight against the wall. Saw how she was desperately searching for him to be someone he so clearly wasn't, trying to push him towards that perfect prince. He could see the path ahead of him, how disappointment would lace each and every step if he let himself try and reach the destination.

She wanted someone he wasn't, needed someone he couldn't be. That want, that _need,_ had got her hurt. Had put her in danger.

Lance couldn't wrap his head around how she could still keep clinging on to this delusion of the perfect brother, clinging to the fantastical hope of the mirage in the unattainable distance.

His throat unfroze and the words spilled and tumbled from terse lips, confused and lost and hopeless.

"You should hate me." He warned her. She tried to butt in but now that he had found the words to speak nothing was stopping them. "I _shot you,_ Allura. Pointed my gun at you as you stood in front of me, and pulled the trigger without hesitation. I am _poison,_ to you, and Pidge, Veronica and Alexei.

"You should stay away from me." He took a step back, the need to flee building. He didn't know where the words were coming from, his mind was numb, but as they hit his ear he found he could not disagree with them. "Bad things follow me, you should be able to see that."

"Lance-"

"You're worried about Haggar?" He raised an eyebrow, feeling himself shuffle back another step. "What's she managed to do to hurt you, really? Sure, she's tried a couple of times, certainly managed to scare you. But what has she a _ctually done_ to you?

" _She_ hasn't shot you. _She_ hasn't shot a hole into your leg so you _can't even walk._ From her you've had words and threats. Look what you've gotten from me."

Another step back. Another. Her voice stuttered in her throat once, twice, trying to conjure something to say but ultimately failing. She tried to come closer to him but stumbled heavily into the wall, leg struggling under the strain. He could see red beginning to spot the nightgown around her thigh: she had burst the wound open again in her haste to track him down. More grief in the name of her brother.

"You guys are safer away from me – and I feel safer away from you." His voice held a tone of finality: he was not willing to be argued with. Not now. "Please, just let me avoid causing any more trouble."

He started to walk away, and as his back turned no sounds of protest followed him. He didn't know if he had gotten through to her, or if she understood that nothing she could say now would change his mind, or if she simply didn't have the energy to keep chasing after him, with or without the wound.

Either way he was left alone to his own thoughts as he turned the corner and disappeared from her line of view. He was mildly surprised to see Hunk standing there, barely hidden from view and well within earshot of the sibling's conversation. Lance didn't feel like any kind of pep talk right now and went to move past Hunk towards the attic, but the larger boy grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug. No words, no cliché lines about how he shouldn't feel so bad about himself. Just pure comfort.

He had never been so grateful to have Hunk in his life as he did right at that moment.

From beyond the corner, they heard the scrapping shuffle as Allura moved off back in the direction of the blacked out rooms. The thought of being left alone in the darkened room made him uneasy, and he was glad Hunk had convinced him to venture out to the roof.

Used to the attic now, Lance barely hesitated as he entered it's inky blackness, well versed in the layout and easily making his way over to the hatch by sheer memory. Fumbling for a moment, the hatch opened with little resistance, the stiffness having melted away as the boys had used it so regularly over the past week.

The air was unseasonably cold, the heat of the pent up summer having vanished in the night. A clear sky and a brisk wind met the boys as they settled on the icy slate, and Lance cast a worried look around. Several thoughts played on his mind, the most prominent being, "Shiro's snipers are probably going to shoot us down before the lights even appear." He had already been given one warning about sneaking around, not to mention the stakes being raised tonight.

Hunk coughed into his hand, avoiding Lance's eye. "I may or may not have warned Shiro about our plans so that we could avoid that outcome…"

Lance's eyebrows raised, and he trapped Hunk under his scrutiny. "You may have told him?"

Hunk shrugged, still avoiding the withering look. "Or may not," He said goofily.

"What part of 'sneaking out' do you not understand?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hunk said sarcastically, "Probably the part that involves getting shot for doing so."

Any kind of retort he may have had died on Lance's tongue: he knew that whatever he would say couldn't have convinced either of them otherwise, but usually that wouldn't stop him at least trying. No, what stopped him was the subtle shift he felt in the air, as though it rapidly dropped several degrees colder, or the force of the wind slightly picked up.

Like before, it began to happen.

Illuminated windows of blue light inset into the palace walls blinked out into nothingness, the familiar structures of home deforming into looming black silhouettes. Like a wave, the aphotic darkness rolled across the city, smothering the Balmeran crystals in its distending swells. The world disappeared before Lance's eyes, and his gaze traced up to the stars in the search of the cosmic light show. Any moment now.

Any moment.

The red. The yellow, the green. The blue: they would appear in a rather unbelievable fashion, the only explanation of their existence being products of fantasy and magic. Any moment now.

Any.

Moment.

He distantly heard Hunk's breath hitch in his throat, but Lance paid it no mind. He gave the heavens his full attention, refusing to miss so much as a second of the oncoming spectacle.

"L-Lance-" Hunk stuttered, voice astonishingly quiet. Lance didn't react quickly, his focus coming back to him through viscous treacle before he could reclaim it, and Hunk dug a sharp elbow into his side.

Flinching from the pain, swears and curses directed towards his friend wilted and putrefied on his tongue, lost to the world before even being released as he caught sight of what had unnerved Hunk so.

In the darkness that Lance had always hated, he saw something that unnerved him more than any shadow had ever managed to before.

Steadily, one by one, glimpses of purple light emerged, causing the surrounding blackness to flinch back from their glare. Lance counted six, no seven, points of purple floating in the darkness, beyond the palace gates. Wait, ten. Fifteen. More and more, winking into existence, small and threatening, cropping up from unknown sources. Twenty five. Thirty. More revealed themselves, gaining confidence and speed in their increasing number, spreading further out from the centre of the group, further into the alleys at their backs. There must have been hundreds of them, pulsing threateningly and silently. Waiting. And watching.

Lance reached blindly, and clasped Hunk's hand tight in his own. He didn't understand what he was seeing, what was happening just beyond the protective barrier of his home.

Darkness, blackness, had always brought him fear. Dredged up a primal distrust that coiled and writhed within him. The desperate need to find a way to light his path and drive the shadows back.

It was only now, in this tense moment, that he realised the true depth of this innate fear.

The dark itself, the creeping shadows and the obscure, obscene _black_ wasn't what made him afraid.

It was what those shadows could cloak and hide.

It was what lurked and sheltered in the dark, what watched him as he stood blind and helpless as a new born.

Monsters. Demons. Beasts. Devils.

The fear was of what he couldn't see, what he couldn't perceive and protect himself from.

And here, crouching on this icy rooftop as the mortal world melted away before his eyes, Lance saw this fear fully realised and presented before him.

Beyond the locked gates of the castle, was a horde.


	3. Shoot The Moon And Watch It Fall

Lance could vaguely feel Hunk's grip like a vice clenching his hand, tight enough that he could feel his stuttering heartbeat thrumming beneath the surface. But regardless of the terror that enveloped the pair of them, Lance could do nothing to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

He didn't realise he had front row seats to the beginning of the end.

And he wasn't even wearing shoes.

They weren't the only ones to have noticed the mass gathering beyond the gates: a couple of guards inquisitively stepped closer, unsure of how to disperse such a large group of people. From here, Lance couldn't make out any faces, any defining features: just blank slates which stirred no recognition within him.

Eerily, the crowd made no movement. Made no sound. Not one sniffle of a running nose in the cold night, nor a cough to clear a tickling throat. The purple lights were held still in their possessor's hands, their light almost engulfed in the obliterating dark. They cast a dim glow, astonishing in their sheer number as opposed to their weak brilliance.

One of the guards came to a stop, gripping the pistol at his waist, taking a moment to take in the massive gathering before him. Lance was too far away to see how he gulped uncomfortably, fingering at the holster's release nervously. On the ground, the crowd seemed to carry on endlessly before him, a swelling mass, their true number lost to the winding alleys which led from the palace.

The other guard carried on forwards, not having realised his partner was hesitating in the face of this unknown threat. Five steps ahead, ten. He was almost to the gates, trying to square up the whole group in his gaze. Unbeknownst to Lance, this was Victor Lorievski, a man who lay in the limbo between being middle aged, and elderly. Whom had spent the better part of his life pacing the palace grounds, glaring at the passers-by who came too close. Through his years, he had learned this was his weapon of choice, and had spent time honing and perfecting it. One look and people scurried away from him, unable to stay beneath his gaze longer than a few seconds. The glare had never let him down.

It was from this distance that he could make out the countless pairs of eyes illuminated in the purple gloom, glowing dark with pupils blown wide. He took his pause, not far from the locked gates separating him from the crowd. He stood tall, with his back like a poker, chin held high. He turned the intensity of his gaze up a few notches, and cleared his throat loudly.

Victor opened his mouth to speak, and it was then he noticed the rifles that many of those in the crowd clung to, grasped with white knuckles. It was the last thing he took note of, before the bright flash of light.

Lance choked on a scream as the gunshot echoed in the dark night, as the heavy body of the guard collapsed to the ground in a steadily-growing pool of his own blood. The second guard froze, wide eyes taking in the toppled form of his former partner. Neither of them had seen who had fired the shot: the bullet could have come from anywhere, the entire crowd suspect. But this wasn't important to the partner for long, for as he stumbled back in fright another blinding flash erupted from the faceless crowd, the shot catching him in the shoulder. He fell heavily to his knees, gripping at the bleeding wound as he began to shout for aid.

Crying out in pain, unable to rise from the ground, he promptly received a matching bullet in the centre of his frontal lobe. His shouts died in his throat with a silence that rang with finality, and he fell to the ground, hand still resting uselessly on his pistol. The holster's release remained firmly closed.

Each and every muscle in Lance's body was seized tight, locked in a tomb of his own making. Hunk's hand trembled against his own, but Lance could not move, could not blink, cursed to bear witness to the gruesome scene unfolding before him.

In the fading echo of the gunshot, the crowd began to shuffle amongst themselves, growing rowdy and impatient as the blood spread further and further from their victims' still forms. They were a singular mass of darkness, flashes of purple catching in eyes, wrapped up in the same chaos and bloodlust. The energy was building, the crowd stirring, requiring release and direction.

A sharp whistle cut through the night, and from the front one person drew their hand back, taking the purple crystal with them. They paused a moment, evaluating the scene before themselves, before spurring back into motion and throwing the crystal towards the palace.

Lance waited with baited breath as the small light soared through the air, unsure of what was going to happen. It felt like the crystal stayed in the air for an age, suspended in the darkness as though the night had claimed it to add to it's collection of stars.

Then, it collided with the gate.

Where it struck, purple flame erupted, devouring the wrought iron beneath it and feasting hungrily. Multiple crystals joined the original, each bursting into licking flames until the entire structure was engulfed in a ravenous blaze. Lance could feel the blistering heat from here, hot air whistling past Hunk and he as though trying desperately to escape the fire.

In moments, the gate was reduced to nothing but mangled iron, collapsing beneath its own weight as it came crashing down to the ground in a screaming heap, hinges tearing away in a squeal. The flames died in a moment, leaving behind the charred skeleton of the outer gate, and from here the crowd began its descent on the castle.

They came, cautious at first, unsettled by the silence of the palace grounds, uneasy as they crossed the threshold to what had always been kept just beyond reach. Some grew in confidence, whooping loud in excitement, raising their rifles up towards the sky. The footsteps fell faster, yells came louder, and violet flashes grew as more and more crystals were hurled out into the palace grounds. The grass and trees, the leo flowers: all burned with unnatural fire that flickered and crackled for a mere moment before fading from view. Each place the flames touched was left charred and ashen, dark patches littering the lush green of the gardens.

Gunshots began to ring out, firing bullets up into the sky, taking aim at the palace windows to shatter glass. The crowd were picking up speed now, having zeroed in on the main entrance to the castle.

"Lance," Hunk said, voice a deathly whisper.

His hand was being crushed beneath the grip of the other boy. He felt light headed, his vision of the scene before him swimming and refusing to focus. Hunk started to shake his shoulder, desperate to bring Lance's focus back to him, back to what they were supposed to do now!

The palace doors were hurled open, and a swarm of bodies clad in palace uniforms rushed out. Their rifles were raised in an instant, fingers drawing triggers without a second thought. The crowd stumbled momentarily, those at the front line quickly gunned down and reduced to nothing but a barrier to keep the threat back. But they were quick to return fire, calling up a shout as bullets rained on both sides. The guards stayed in tight formation around the door, denying entry and rotating out as chambers were emptied and required reloading. There was no hesitation, no doubt in their actions: Shiro was right, they were trained to shoot first and ask questions later.

But Lance could see how hopeless it was.

The mass of the crowd spread easily across the palace grounds: while those at the front fought with the guards, others looked for more creative methods. They branched out, began searching out windows that they could smash and crawl through. They threw the crystals into rooms of the palace above them, the rooms beyond erupting in purple frenzies as flames tore through the insides. The guard was there to protect, but Lance knew they would be nothing against a force of this size: a force of this _nature_.

There were too many, their fury too strong. Their energy was palpable, floating from their fighting and bleeding bodies to coat the air in Lance's lungs: he didn't know why they were here, but he knew this was no random attack. Whatever was being done here was happening for a purpose: there was order and reason. The guards were falling back, he could see, the barrier of bodies between the two sides a mere obstacle as the crowd came forwards, refusing to be denied entry to the palace anymore. With a primal shriek, someone hurled a crystal at the guards desperately attempting to defend their position.

They had been observant – they had seen what the crystals could do. With the threat descending, their nerve snapped. Men who had been trained for any outcome broke, turned and tried to save their own skins. No longer clustered together, the guards were easily being picked off.

One man was not lucky enough to be ended with a quick bullet. As his comrades fled, he froze beneath the earth-drawn crystal. His eyes were alight with glowing purple as the rock crashed into his chest and erupted.

He screamed.

Fire leapt, ravenous, devouring cloth and skin alike. It licked and tore skin, muscle, prying and curling flesh away from the pale bone below. It was unlike anything Lance had ever seen before, the human body stripped away layer by layer as the fire dug deeper, deeper. And still the guard held on to the ability to scream. Every inch of his frame was alight: he had fallen to his knees as he was devoured alive, and yet nothing could stop his screams and pleas, tearing from his throat in bloodcurdling wails that echoed out into the dark and refused to lose volume.

His comrades watched in horror as his flesh seemed to melt away, purple fire taking all it touched. His mouth opened wider than was humanly possible, muscle disintegrating into ash as the jaw fell open into a never ending scream, pearl white teeth visible for a mere moment before they were blackened in the fire's onslaught.

The scent of burning flesh filled the air, and Lance found himself retching onto the roof, body shaking as it desperately tried to expel the demons of what he had seen. He lay there a moment, and breathed heavily. Spittle and bile clung to his lips and he roughly wiped it away with the back of his shaking hand, closing his eyes to fight back tears. The stench was everywhere: filling his nose, laying thick on his tongue and in the back of his throat, threatening to make him retch again.

His head snapped back up without his consent as, amidst the gunshots, the wailing was abruptly cut off with a guttural choking sound. The burned body fully collapsed to the ground in a cascade of cinders, still smouldering, flames licking at the bullet wound that extended from the back of the head and out between the eyes. A nearby guard lowered his pistol, features twisted with nausea. He looked away, unable to bear the sight a moment longer, and was granted the small mercy of a bullet between his ribs.

" _Lance,"_ Hunk hissed, tone insistent as he shook his friend's shoulder. " _Lance,_ we need to move!"

But he couldn't. He was enraptured by the scene before him. Of his home burning and crumbling, of the guards who had pledged to keep them safe falling and dying, some turning and running back into the palace, clinging desperately to their empty, useless rifles.

Many of the attacking party had gathered at the base of his father's marble statue. It glared disapprovingly down at them, as though suspecting their devious intentions. Two individuals stepped forward with coils of rope, throwing them into the air to catch on the statue. More people joined in, rushing forward with their own rope to ensnare the patiently waiting statue. Marble steadily disappeared beneath woven fibre, the disapproving scowl seemingly twisting and deepening as more and more loops of rope ensnared him. Someone had managed to wrap a coil of rope around the statue's neck, and it briefly hung there like a hangman's noose.

But not for long. The people on the ground all came to one another's side, fiercely gripping their lengths of rope. On the count of three they all began to pull. The knot at the king's neck tightened on his alabaster throat, the same happening across his body. The people pulled as a single unit, heaving as one, hands slipping and burning on the rope beneath them. But they didn't care: regardless, they carried on until the stone king seemed to be leaning forwards, a crack appearing at his base. In the face of progress their force increased and grins began to spread on their faces.

They were near their end: the king was balancing precariously above them, desperately clinging to the earth with the last of his might. As someone below screamed, "HEAVE!" it was over. The crowd stepped back as the king fell, his displeased glare splintering as his body crashed to the ground, marble smashing and cracking into disparaging chunks, rolling as far from the chaos as they could.

Lance couldn't watch anymore. His gaze was glazing over, his brain stuttering while trying to process the images and scents and sounds of death and destruction and fire and screaming and gunshots and-

A large hand slapped across his cheek, leaving the skin sensitive and likely bruised. Lance's hand rose to cover the injured flesh on instinct, indignantly crying out, "What the hell?"

Hunk grasped both of his shoulders, demanding he maintain eye contact. "We need to go. Now." He said slowly, voice slightly breathless. Lance could feel his friend's hands quivering where they gripped him with crushing force. "They're here for _you_. For your family." There were tears in the corners of Hunk's eyes, and tracks of moisture down his cheeks. "We need to go." His friend was pleading with him, begging Lance to snap out of his shock and take stock of what was happening around them. His family was in danger, wrapped up warm and content in their blacked-out rooms at the palace's core. What if they didn't know? What if they had no idea what was happening - what was coming for them?

Staring into Hunk's eyes Lance felt his mind clearing slowly, and he managed to take a deep breath to try and shake off the remaining cobwebs of terror. The constricting tension remained, but it didn't hold as much power over him: he knew he could move, could think.

Lance nodded tersely.

Hunk's relief was a brief flicker at the corner of his tense mouth. "Good," He sighed, nodding his head distractedly as he set about thinking of what they needed to do. "Okay. Now, we need to work out how to keep you safe."

"Woah, woah!" Lance shook his head vigorously. "I think you mean we need to work out how to keep my _family_ safe."

"Lance-"

"Nuh uh!" His head was still shaking – he had to make sure Hunk understood that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he would hide away and wait for this all to blow over while his family were left to the mercy of the impassioned crowd below them. "I have to help them!"

"No," Hunk said, firmly. "That's Shiro's and the guard's jobs: we are a prince, and a servant boy. We cannot and should not try to do anything." The grip on Lance's shoulders was tightening, Hunk drawing him closer to him. "We need to keep out of harm's way - keep you safe until the guard have a handle on the situation."

As he spoke, the guard in question were being gunned down in cold blood. A weary group had somehow regrouped by the door, surrounded by their comrades that had fallen beside them, desperately trying to hold the crowd back.

"What if the guard won't get a handle on the situation?" Lance heard the words leave his lips without much thought, but he couldn't argue with them. He should wonder what would happen if the guard failed. What if he kept all of his faith in them and they fell – if the attackers gained complete access to the palace. He had to be realistic: things were not going well down below.

"They will-"

"Look, Hunk!" Lance burst, pointing. Hunk refused to look, unable to face the sights again. "Any minute now those people, with their guns and _magic,_ are going to storm into the castle. The guard can't stop them!"

"Either can we!" Hunk's eyes were pleading with him, tears continually rolling down his cheeks with terror as he considered what Lance was asking of him.

Lance stared long and hard at his friend, the two boys trying desperately to convince the other to see their point of view. "We don't have to," He finally said. "All I am asking is that we help them get out: that we all leave together. You can't ask me to run and save my hide and leave them behind: surely you understand that?"

Hunk sighed, and Lance knew he had him. He had always been grateful that Hunk was willing to help him, even when he knew it was a terrible idea. He had been there for him his whole life, through thick and thin, and would remain with him during Lance's stupidest idea yet.

"Okay," Hunk nodded, biting his lip as he continued to convince himself that this was a good idea. "We run down, find them, and all of us get out." His friend rubbed at his chin, thoughts grinding so hard Lance could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

Hunk's eyes took on a keen glint as he began to think: viewing their situation as a metaphorical problem that he was able to take a step back from and get a clear overview of what was happening. "Okay." He sighed, mulling over his thoughts. "Advantage: your family are not in their usual bedrooms so shouldn't be so easy to find.

"Disadvantage: when they do get found they are all together in the same place, ergo making the bad guys' lives easier.

"Advantage: there should be lots of secret escape routes out of the castle, in preparation for a situation just like this.

"Disadvantage: we have no idea where any of them are."

Lance waved him on impatiently, "We can cross that bridge when we come to it. What else?"

"Okay, okay…" Mumbled Hunk, now rubbing his jaw furiously. If anything it was a distraction from the train of thought: he hadn't had time to shave today, and the presence of stubble on his chin was infuriating him, jagging at his skin as he ran his palm and fingers over it. "Advantage: no one knows where you or I are.

"Disadvantage: we're both idiots. Strike that – we're both _unarmed_ idiots. We'd get gunned down in a second!"

"The armoury." Lance's clipped voice said. That was the answer: nip down, grab a few rifles, a couple of pistols, and bam! Get to his family and get everyone out.

Once Lance had a gun in his hand, there would be no stopping him. Regardless of the fact that he had never, technically, shot someone before…

Allura didn't count.

He shook his head, and made himself stand, desperate to get moving. That was another bridge to be crossed _if_ they came to it.

"Anything else?" Lance asked with a raised brow, holding his hand out.

Hunk sighed. He grabbed his hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. "Only that, again, we are idiots. And there's a good chance we are going to die."

Anger surged in Lance for a moment, and he heard himself growling, "We are not going to die!" He pulled Hunk towards the roof's edge, refusing to entertain the idea that this is where the two of them - where everyone he knew and loved - would end. Whoever these people were that were destroying his home, for whatever reason they were doing so, he didn't care. He could find out later what had sparked this destruction.

For now, they had some kind of idea what they were doing. Lance was chilled to his bones as they gently removed themselves from the roof, turning for the briefest of instants to the scene below as the crowd gave off an almighty cheer.

The last of the guards had fallen.

The palace door was open, unmanned, and ready for the taking.

As the crowd started forwards, Lance swallowed the lump stuck in his throat. They didn't have much time.

"How many?" Hunk hissed, aghast at the display of weaponry. He kept his voice low, but couldn't quite take his eyes away from the rows of artillery laid out before him.

Lance shrugged. "As many as we can carry? Bullets too – we can't forget those!"

Hunk nodded diligently, grabbing and thrusting pistols into the satchel at his side, shoving in boxes of shells and bullets on top of them. Hunk couldn't aim a firearm to save his life (his words, not Lance's) but the prince was well-versed with using two pistols at once and was confident he could shoot for the both of them. The rest – for his family when they found them. They had managed to find steel breastplates hidden away at the back: heavy, and hopefully thick enough to protect against bullets. While they brought the boys a mild comfort against the image of being gunned down, they were far too heavy for them to carry spares for Lance's family. He wasn't sure he would be able to handle the guilt of the extra protection when he finally got to his family, clad in nothing other than their night clothes. For good measure, Lance strapped a rifle to his back, instructing Hunk to do the same.

After a few minutes, they stared at the display that had been looted by the prince and the servant. There was nothing else to take, nothing else that could possibly help prepare them for what was to come. What they had now was all they had to work with.

"Okay, so, we make it to my family's rooms-" Lance started.

"Wake everyone up quickly and quietly-" Hunk seamlessly continued.

"Arm everyone, and have father tell us an acceptable escape route to use."

"And then, we live happily ever after." Hunk shakily grinned.

Lance threw an arm around his friend's shoulders and tried to squeeze him encouragingly. "That bit's new?"

"I added it in – thought you would like it."

Lance smiled despite himself, and couldn't stop as he pulled Hunk into a tight embrace. "I do. You're the best."

Hunk let out a shaky sigh, his warm breath tickling the fair hairs at the nape of Lance's neck. "You're my best friend, Lance. I love you, man."

Lance clung to him extra tightly for a moment, trying to squeeze the moment for all it was worth. "I love you too, big guy."

They parted and made their way from the armoury.

The corridors were black.

Not dark. Not filled with shadows. Black.

All of the Balmeran crystals were still disabled beneath the surge of the solar storm: the only light Lance could make out came from the dim blue glowing of his royal marks. It made Lance wonder briefly about the crystals the enemy were wielding: they looked scarily similar to the one Haggar had held, although he hadn't managed to get a decent look at either of them up close. Still, the eerie glow matched up in his eyes. Whatever kind of crystal they were, they did not short out beneath the storm's display, remaining powerful and dangerous, providing light as well as wicked destructive powers. The enemy had the advantage of sight, while he and Hunk were stuck in the dark.

Good thing the two of them knew the palace like the back of their hands.

They managed to move quickly, with little delay. Each turn and twist in the corridors familiar, and it seemed no one untoward had managed to venture so deep into the castle. They were in luck.

Distantly, however, they could still hear the shouts of angry strangers. The shots of rifles firing – into what, he dared not guess. There was a far off smell of smoke and burning gently drifting down the hallways, and Lance had to bite his lip to keep himself from thinking of the man had been set alight outside. They could hear smashing glass, doors banging open, laugher and wonderment at what treasures had been uncovered within. The palace was truly a trove of riches – Lance could only imagine how many trinkets were being looted and stored in the pockets of the invaders.

The pistols were held in a crushing grip. This palace was all he had ever known: the thought of it being desecrated and torn apart by these people made his blood boil. This was his _home!_ The place where he and his family fought amongst one another, and where he and Hunk skulked around hallways, and where is mother would hold his hand and walk with him through the boundless array of blooming leo flowers of summer. But to them it was merely a free-for-all.

And the flowers were burning.

And Lance's family could already be dead.

He shied away from that thought violently, refusing to have it engulf his senses and douse him in fear. He took a hasty step forwards, only to be forcibly dragged back by the rifle strapped to his back.

The strap pulled tight across his chest, and the air in his lungs fired past his lips in a violent 'whoosh'. He rubbed at his bruised sternum, glaring at the patch of darkness he was only half sure contained Hunk. "You know," He wheezed, "Maybe next time, instead of roughly pulling on the _goddamned loaded fire arm_ attached to my back, you could ask me to stop nicely?"

"Shh," Hunk whispered.

"You're in desperate need of some health and safety training," he grumbled back, but did as he was told. It took him a moment to pinpoint the clip of a heel upon the wooden hallway up ahead, echoing quietly towards them. Lance's stomach dropped, his chest constricting painfully: someone was headed straight for them. He knew this corridor well: enamoured with portraits of his ancestors, the hall carried on for what felt like leagues. Especially with his mother at his side, stopping to quiz him at each of the portraits for the previous monarch's name and what they achieved in their reign. There were no twisted corridors merging with this hall: it was designed to have its length walked fully whenever some unfortunate soul stumbled this way. Whoever was ahead, there was no where else for them to go: they were going to discover Lance and Hunk, cowering against each other, desperately hiding against a wall.

Hunk found his hand in the darkness and clung to him tightly, the two boys trying to keep their panicked breathing under wraps. In the dark, Lance could now make out a threatening purple glow in the hallway ahead, floating closer as the footsteps continued on the varnished ground, confident and steady.

Lance backed up a step, walking into Hunk. He could feel the other boy trembling through his thin pyjamas – why hadn't he worn decent clothes before clamouring up onto the roof? Is this how he ends, the prince of Altea, killed in his night clothes?

It almost seemed fitting.

Gulping, Lance pulled his pistols close to his chest, trying to calm his nerves with their familiar weight. That light was coming closer, closer. They had the advantage in the dark: could hopefully make use of their element of surprise before their guest caught on to their presence.

That is, if there was only one of them.

What if there were more?

And then comes the question, he thinks, of what to do. The pistols were familiar to him, sure. But gunning someone down in cold blood, when they have no way to expect it? The mere thought turned Lance's stomach: it didn't seem honourable. Shooting fish in a barrel. He felt like it would sit better with him if they had a chance to defend themselves. If they attacked first – then whatever happened would be in self-defence.

Then he wouldn't have to make the first move.

Granted, they had burst into his home – plundering and destroying as they made their way into the castle's core. Granted, they were here for his family. He had every right to defend himself: to help defend the lives of those he cared about, locked away behind the gates. He should feel the bloodlust rising within him, the anger and protectiveness that would fuel him to pull the trigger without hesitation.

But instead he just feels his hands shaking. He can't even tell if the quivering in his body was coming from Hunk, or himself. His gaze was hyper fixated on the steadily growing light, and panic was licking at his insides. Could he do it? Could he pull that trigger – could he protect them? His family were waiting on him, defenceless and ignorant to the imminent danger. Nothing should be able to keep him from them.

 _Could_ he do it?

Alfor could.

Allura could.

That light was only meters away now. Hunk's hand was clasped tightly over his own mouth, trying desperately to muffle his breathing. For a moment Lance let himself sink into his friend's warmth, his sweet friend who had never done anyone any harm. What if these invaders didn't care for the staff who lived and worked here? What if everyone living within the palace was fair game? The image of the guards being gunned down outside twisted his stomach: he couldn't have Hunk's death on his hands, not because of him.

He stepped forward, away from that warmth, hands still shaking but with a pistol facing forwards confidently. He had a chance to make a difference here – he had a chance to _help._ Hunk would not die for him. His family would not die because he had stood aside and done nothing.

He could _help._

He took a breath: the waiting was tying his stomach in knots. He waited for his target to step closer, shed some light on their body: he needed _something_ to shoot at. Firing blindly into the black corridor would not be a good plan, and would give away their presence.

He only had one shot before they revealed themselves.

Not to mention others may hear the blast and come to investigate: they had to finish this quickly and move on as fast at they could before anyone got curious and came looking.

The purple light drifted closer, those clipping heels deafening in the silence, his heart stuttering with each step. Closer, _closer._

Slender fingers gripped the crystal lightly: hands rough and calloused against its glow. Lance altered his aim slightly, moving with his target, working out where the connections of the body were. It was a painstaking game: the light was so, _so_ close now. It was do or die time.

The light swung up to the left suddenly, directing its weak glow up to one of the many portraits lining the hall. After such regular steps, the sudden change almost had Lance lose his nerve, finger jumping on the trigger before he was certain he would make the head shot. He managed to rein in his reaction.

Hunk, however, did not.

The sudden swing of the crystal had his eyes bugging out of their sockets in stress, and before he could stop it a single squeak of fear had worked it's way past his lips. Regardless of how tightly he clung to his face, the noise still escaped in to the open air of the corridor. Lance felt his muscles lock up: there was no way their guest hadn't heard that.

The light swung back, violently. Whoever held it leant forwards, trying to cast light on the source of the sound. Lance's heartbeat was _thundering,_ pounding hard enough that his hand shook in time with it. He had to pull the trigger – now, now, NOW!

 _Wait._

He knew to wait.

He knew to be patient.

 _He knew he couldn't miss this opportunity._

They heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from it's sheath. It would now be drawn in their direction, ready to hack them to pieces as its owner stepped closer.

The light shifted as the intruder raised their hand, bringing it towards their face as they struggled to see in the gloom.

The dim glow caught on the edge of a sharp jawline, and Lance couldn't wait any longer – couldn't find any reason to hold off. He directed his aim, and snapped.

The trigger felt stiffer than it ever had before, the shot bearing more weight. He didn't realise that he was yelling, words nonsensical to his ears, willing his eyes to shut against the years of training he had gone through to ensure they stayed open at this moment. He didn't want to see!

The light glided up the jawline, over a cheekbone, caught on the ragged edges of a large scar over the bridge of the intruder's face. Purple light played on a tuft of white hair, greyed before its time due to the weight of responsibility and stress. Light danced in dark familiar eyes, trying desperately to see an opponent in the darkness.

The trigger was drawn, and Lance had his shot perfectly lined up with Shiro's forehead.


End file.
